Chuck Chuck Goose
by WritePassion
Summary: Chuck Finley is an alias that has served Sam Axe well. But one day, it brings him more trouble than he can handle. A Burn Notice/Due South crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck Chuck Goose**

**A Burn Notice/Due South Crossover**

by WritePassion

The icy cold air he breathed threatened to freeze his lungs from the inside out. If it weren't for the fact that he was running and every muscle pumping, his heart pushing warm blood through his veins, Ray Kowalski thought he would certainly freeze in the frigid January air. The perp ahead of him dared to look back, and it gave him an edge. Ray gained on him by two more strides. Panic crossed the man's features, and Ray smirked at the signs that he was tiring and was about ready to give up. No doubt Fraser had already caught his man. Why did he always get stuck with the stubborn ones?

They were running out of sidewalk, and Ray knew if he didn't take a chance now, they were in for some big trouble. He pushed off with his toes, grateful for the tread on his boots as he sprung forward. For a second or two he was suspended in air, until his body slammed into the perp's and sent them both barreling into the short concrete barrier. The momentum took them over the top, and for a moment Ray and the man flipped head over heels, the dark cloudy sky in his sights, and then his back crashed into the hard ice. It cracked and their weight took them down into the deathly cold waters of Lake Michigan.

Crying out in terror, the man broke away from Ray and thrashed about in the water. The frigid water was a shock to his system and caused Ray's body to freeze up, then shiver uncontrollably. He sank, but he forced his arms to move to bring him back to the surface. His man crawled up on the ice to get away, but every time he tried, another section broke.

"Ray! Ray, where are you!"

"Fraser!" He took in a mouthful of water and gagged. Looking up, he spied Fraser's wolf sitting on the barrier, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as if he'd just run a marathon. "Hey, Dief, don't just sit there, ya dumb dog! Do something!" Diefenbaker only stared at him.

Then Fraser's Mountie hat appeared along with his head peering over the barrier. "Oh dear, Ray!" He turned to the wolf. "Dief, get Ray's suspect!"

While Diefenbaker trotted around to the wall where the man climbed up in an attempt to escape, Fraser pulled off his pea coat, dropped it on the ground, and undid his Sam Brown belt. He used it to snag Ray's wrist and help him up out of the water. By the time he was able to grab the back of Ray's belt and pull him to safety, sirens shrieked loudly as police, fire, and an ambulance crew pulled to a stop. Ray's entire body shook, and his teeth chattered.

"Fffrraser."

"Shhh, don't try to talk, Ray. They'll get you warmed up at the hospital."

Ray was in no condition to protest. They laid him on the gurney and ran him to the ambulance, checking his vitals and trying to warm him up on the way. His friend stood beside his wolf, watching him leave, hoping for the best.

"Fraser."

"Ah, Leftenant Welsh." He glanced at the Lieutenant warily, afraid that he would be blamed for this unfortunate event, because things like this always seemed to happen when he was around. But it wasn't his fault Ray doggedly chased the man straight into the lake.

"How did this happen, or should I really not ask?"

"Well, Sir, Ray and I were in pursuit of two men who were responsible for the First Illinois bank robbery last week. They were on foot, and we saw them. When we attempted to apprehend them, Ray apparently went after the, um, more athletically inclined man. He stumbled into the lake, with Ray."

"Stumbled into the lake. Hmmhmm. I suppose I'll be able to read all about it in your detailed report."

"Oh, yes, Sir!" Fraser put his coat back on, the cold air starting to get to him. "Sir, may I go to the hospital first to check on Ray?"

"By all means."

"Thank you kindly, Leftenant!" Fraser caught a ride in a squad car following the second ambulance that took the wet perp to the hospital for a checkup.

Lt. Welsh wondered, for the thousandth time in the last fifteen years, how he wound up with a Mountie working for the Chicago PD. Sometimes Constable Benton Fraser was a blessing with his amazing deductive reasoning, but when he got Kowalski in trouble, Welsh wondered what form he needed to fill out to ship him back to Canada. Surely, by now his superiors had gotten over the fact that he collared a well-respected member of the RCMP as his father's killer, a brave act that led to his being exiled to the United States. But then again, Welsh still needed Fraser, despite his talent for finding trouble. Ray would survive this latest fiasco, and Fraser would stay on, of that he was certain.

* * *

Fiona Glenanne-Westen lay on the beach sunning herself. It had been so long since they had a break of sorts. It felt good, really good, to laze in bed until ten with Michael, and then head to the beach. It was a perfectly idyllic day with full sun, heat, the balmy salt air, and the love of her life by her side. At least, once he was able to get himself away from his cell phone and relax. Now he lay beside her on his stomach, the sun slowly turning his skin a light bronze.

"Need some more lotion?" She leaned over and asked him. He didn't respond. Carefully, she pulled up his sunglasses and noticed that his eyes were closed. The action didn't wake him up, so she replaced them and gently rubbed more lotion onto his back.

"Mmmm, Fi," he moaned and smiled. "Feels good."

"Don't want you to burn, Michael." She smiled and leaned down from where she sat on the blanket beside him, kissed him, and added softly, "We've had enough burned spies around here lately."

"I agree completely," he muttered, then fell asleep again under her massaging hands.

"Hey, there you are!"

Fiona's head flew up and she frowned at the sight of the older man trudging through the sand. Sam Axe wore Bermuda shorts, his hawaiian shirt open to expose his bare chest, and sunglasses covered his eyes. In his left hand he carried a fishing pole and a tackle box, and in his right, a small cooler, no doubt filled with beer. His bright grin told her that he was happy to see them.

"Sam, what are you doing here?"

"Sorry Fi, I didn't know this was a private beach," he replied, mirroring the annoyed tone in her voice. He shoved the end of his pole into the sand. "I was just up on the pier fishing. Didn't catch a thing, but hey, that's the way it goes. As I was going back to the car, I thought I saw you guys. So what's shakin'?"

"Nothing. We're enjoying the time off."

"Yeah, me too. I was going to head over to Carlito's after this. Thought you might wanna come, but you look like you're pretty set here for awhile." He shrugged. "I'll see you later. Let me know if Mike gets any cases, okay?"

"Of course. Good day, Sam."

"Yeah. See ya." Sam pulled his pole out of the sand, picked up his gear, and walked to the car.

They hadn't had a new case in a couple of weeks, and Mike and Fi were pretty quiet in all that time. This was the first opportunity where he'd been able to catch them. He always seemed to miss them at the loft, and they weren't answering their phones. _I guess that's what happens when you become Mr. and Mrs. Westen. _He was feeling more and more like a fifth wheel.

Sam popped the trunk on his latest used car. The only positive thing he could say about it is that it was cheap, and that he rebuilt the engine with a little help from Ms. Reynolds. They no longer had a romantic relationship, but despite the incident in which Michael sent her classic car plummeting off a parking garage, they still remained close. She was a good friend, one of many former lovers who remained in his life as friends, but without certain benefits. Now, if he could only find one that did body work...

"Hello," he said with a wide grin as a pretty young thing in a string bikini passed on the sidewalk, giving him the eye. He slammed the trunk after throwing his gear inside and hoped maybe she'd slow down, but she kept walking away. "Plenty of fish in the sea," he muttered to himself. "Plenty of them."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Kowalski!" Lt. Welsh had to yell to get him to stop, because the detective was moving too fast for him to catch up.

Ray turned in the hallway and faced his commanding officer. "Yes, Sir?"

"You didn't turn in your doctor's clearance. Until you do that, you're not going to see your desk."

"Sir, I brought it in yesterday and put it on your desk."

Welsh raised his eyebrows. "You did? If I don't find it this morning, I'm sending you home. As it is, you're confined to desk duty."

"Oh come on, Lieu! I just fell into some cold water! Why's everybody makin' a big deal outta this?"

"You suffered severe hypothermia, Kowalski! You should be taking it easy for awhile." His eyes closed down as he stared at him. "Maybe you should take some vacation time. You've got quite a bit saved up."

"Seriously?" He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave it some thought. "I've been thinkin' how nice it would be to go down to Florida, you know. Get away from this cold weather for awhile."

"Terrific." Lt. Welsh grinned. He very rarely grinned. "Why don't you take a couple of weeks? And take Fraser with you."

"What about the Dragon Lady? Did you clear this with her?"

Welsh put his hand on Ray's shoulder and steered him toward the building entrance. "It's all worked out with Inspector Thatcher. I'd go over to the consulate right now and talk to Fraser if I were you."

Ray looked sideways at him. Something strange was going on, but Welsh wasn't about to come out and tell him. Okay, he could play that game. "Sure. See you in a couple weeks."

"Have fun, Detective."

He parked his classic GTO in front of the Canadian Consulate and trotted up the steps. Constable Turnbull stood in the icy breeze , staring straight ahead as if he'd been frozen into place.

"Guard duty again, huh? What'd you screw up this time?" Turnbull didn't answer, and Ray smiled. "I still think curling is housework, not a sport."

Turnbull's eyes squinted slightly, but they never moved, and his cheek twitched. Laughing, Ray opened the door and let himself inside. He stopped in the foyer and wiped his feet. As he did so, he heard voices inside the Inspector's office. He passed the door and glanced inside, noting that Fraser was with Inspector Thatcher and two men in dark trench coats, looking like Feds.

"Detective Kowalski! Will you come in here please," Inspector Thatcher barked. It wasn't a request.

"Sure. Inspector, what's up? Who are these guys?"

"Foster and Burns, CSIS." One of the men introduced himself and his partner curtly, standing before the Inspector with his hands crossed in front of himself.

"Huh?"

Fraser enlightened him. "They're the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."

"Ah, like the CIA. I get it. So, um, what are they doin' here, or shouldn't I know?"

Inspector Thatcher got out of her seat and came around the desk. She wore a light pink suit, a color that Ray always thought looked good on her. It accentuated her dark brown hair and eyes. "Detective, you're here for a reason. Leftenant Welsh is letting us...borrow...you for awhile to complete a mission that Fraser is conducting as part of a liaison effort with the CSIS."

"Borrow me? For what?" He didn't like the idea of being passed around like the cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving dinner.

Burns spoke. "Inspector Thatcher will fill you in. We are merely here to inform you that we will be watching over you and Constable Fraser while you're in Miami. Just to make sure that everyone's interests are being considered."

_What the hell does he mean by that?_ "Miami?" Ray shook his head. "Whatever. Just somebody fill me in, okay?"

Foster and Burns headed for the door. Foster said, "Inspector, please brief them and provide them with our Miami contact information."

"I will." Thatcher nodded. "Thank you, gentlemen." After they were gone, she indicated the two chairs in front of her desk. "Please, have a seat Fraser, Ray."

They sat, and she opened a file folder and gave it to Ray. "Here are your plane tickets, your rental car, and your hotel reservations. Oh, and here's your expense account."

Ray saw the figure and whistled. "Is this Canadian or American?"

She ignored his question. "Yours and Fraser's mission will be to find this man." She flipped past the other information to a photograph of a graying man in his 50s wearing a suit, sunglasses, and relaxing at an open air restaurant. "His name is Charles Finley, and he's wanted by our government in regards to a kidnapping and extortion attempt on the Prime Minister's daughter. Our intelligence says he's crafty, and he can take on other identities and appearances. He has a background in intelligence and special ops, so he'll be quite the handful. Your mission is to find him, capture him, and bring him back to Chicago. The CSIS will take over when he's here."

"So why don't the CSIS guys just grab him, since they're going down to babysit us?"

"I can't tell you that. It's classified."

"Of course." Ray handed the file to Fraser. "Is there a timeframe on this little junket?"

Inspector Thatcher paced slowly as she spoke, her arms crossed in front of herself. "The CSIS doesn't think it will take long to find him. Their intel says that Finley keeps a pretty high profile in the Miami area, at least for someone who is a wanted man. I suspect it won't take more than a few days to locate and apprehend him."

"Miami is a large city, Inspector." Fraser looked up from the folder. "It would assist us greatly if you had a dossier on Mr. Finley. His acquaintances, likes and dislikes, his habits."

"What we know is on the sheet in back. Unfortunately, it isn't much because Mr. Finley is quite elusive when he wants to be." Thatcher returned to her chair. "I suggest you go and pack for warmer weather, gentlemen. Your flight leaves in four hours."

* * *

Sam took his mojito at the bar, since he didn't have anyone to sit with. Mike and Fi were too absorbed in each other, Jesse was off on a mission, and he didn't feel like joining Maddie for her aqua aerobics class again. He'd gotten too used to being part of a team over the past six years. Maybe he should be thankful for the break instead of itching for another job, but at the moment he didn't see the benefit of being alone.

He glanced toward the end of the bar, where a brunette sat watching him for the past five minutes. Giving her his best suave, flirty look and smile; he was pleased when she smiled back.

"Whatcha drinking?"

"Long Island Ice Tea," she replied as she tossed her long hair over her shoulder. "And you?"

"Mojito. Are you waiting for someone?"

"No. My friends left me and went off scuba diving. I don't do anything that requires me to trust a tank of air to keep me alive."

Sam chuckled. "I guess we're in the same boat, then. My friends are all in other places doing other things, this is the first down time I've had in ages, and," he dropped his gaze to the bar and then turned it to her. "I'm bored as hell."

She laughed, got off her stool and slipped into the one next to him. "Well then, maybe we can be bored together!"

"Sounds good to me! Looks like you need a refill."

Twelve hours later, Sam woke with the worst hangover ever. The room was dark, the sheets were twisted and wrinkled, and he was alone. He squinted as he turned on the light on the night stand. Looking around, he realized his afternoon fling was gone. It hurt his brain to try to remember what happened. They were drinking mojitos and Long Island Ice Teas, maybe went to dinner, and wound up here...wherever here was. He blacked out, so he wasn't even sure if anything steamy and intimate occurred. One thing he was sure of; he felt as if he'd been in a major fight, but there were no marks or bruises on his body. Sam rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. _I think she drugged me. I gotta get out of here, but I...I can't seem to get myself moving. Yeah, she knocked me out with something. I'll figure it out...later._ He fell asleep and didn't wake up until someone knocked on the door the next morning.

"Housekeeping."

Sam sat up straight in bed and hastily covered himself with the sheet. His head pounded in protest, but he didn't care. The door opened, and a short, overweight woman in a maid's uniform entered the room.

"Oh, so sorry! I come back!" She quickly backed out of the room with wide eyes staring at the naked man in the bed. She was told the room was unoccupied, but sometimes errors happened.

Despite how his head felt, Sam got up and located his clothing. It was scattered all over the room. He picked up each piece and retreated to the bathroom for a quick shower. His skin felt as if he'd had a sweet, sticky mixed drink dumped on him, but his shirt and shorts were clean. The shower helped him feel a little better, and he quickly put his wrinkled clothes back on. His wallet was missing, which really shouldn't have been a surprise. No doubt the girl saw him as an easy mark, got him drunk, and slipped something into his drink when he wasn't looking. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he got snookered.

Even more surprising was that, when he found his wayward sandal under the bed, he also found his wallet. And nothing appeared to be out of place. Even the cash was there in his money clip. He shook his head in bemusement. _This is too weird!_

Sam left the room and went down to the lobby, debating whether he should go to the front desk and ask if anyone had paid for the room, or who booked it to begin with. As much as he would have liked to sneak out, his curiosity got the better of him, so he moved toward the desk. He was in the Beacon, and that's about all he knew.

"Hi, I was staying up in room 212. This is going to sound really crazy, but can you tell me who booked the room?"

"May I have your name, Sir?"

"Sam Axe."

The woman searched her computer and shook her head. "I'm sorry, no one by that name rented a room here."

"Maybe it was under Chuck Finley, or Charles Finley?" Sam squinted, trying to hold off another headache. "Was it a man or a woman who booked it?"

"A woman did, and she paid with cash. I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you."

"Alright, thanks." He walked away, still not knowing the answer to this mystery. He wondered where the woman went. Maybe he could find her at Carlito's again and get some answers.

She wasn't there, and no one on the morning crew had seen anyone matching her description. He tried just about every bar on South Beach, but it was if she'd disappeared into thin air. With nothing better to do, he went back to his tiny apartment to change clothes and grab his fishing gear, and he returned to the beach. He was quickly learning that his life in Miami was boring without the interruption of his best friend's exploits. He could try to go it on his own, but they'd spent too much time as a team for him to start from scratch. This little hiccup created just enough excitement to tide him over until things went back to normal.

* * *

"Man, Frase, this was too easy. Look at the guy! He acts like nothin's out of the ordinary." Ray walked with Fraser a block behind Chuck Finley. "The Dragon Lady's intel wasn't kidding that this guy gets around. Did you see all the bars he hit this morning? And he's not even weaving!"

"Some people can hold their alcohol better than others, Ray."

"Yeah, but twelve bars in two hours! He must have been doin' shots. Now he's going fishing? I mean, I never heard of a spy going fishing, have you?" Ray shoved his hands into his shorts pockets, feeling the warm metal of the handcuffs in one of the deep pockets. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his white tank top and the muscles underneath, causing more than one attractive woman to stare and smile. He gave them a sexy grin back, but he had work to do. Maybe there'd be time for play later.

Fraser wore a powder blue polo shirt with khaki pants, had plenty of women staring, but he completely ignored them. He was too focused on the mission. "Our CSIS operative was able to make contact with Finley yesterday. She shared some drinks with him, took him to the Beacon Hotel, and made sure he was unconscious before planting the bug and tracking device in his money clip."

"So have your guys been getting anything worthwhile off it?"

"Not yet. However, they did say he used an alias at the Beacon to attempt to find out who rented the room."

"What name did he use?"

"Sam Axe."

Ray nodded. "Yeah, that was the alias on the list. The very very short list, I might add. What kind of spy is he anyway? He has only one alias, Sam Axe? And what kind of name is that? Sounds like a comic book character or something, not a spy."

"Maybe you can ask him when we capture him, Ray."

"Haha, funny Fraser. We'll be lucky to get anything without beating it out of him, if he was really in SpecOps. Those guys are tough. And besides, that's the CSIS guys' job, isn't it?"

"Yes. Our job is to apprehend him. Stop, Ray. He's on the beach." Fraser jutted his chin in the direction where Charles Finley stood on the sand setting up his fishing gear.

"How do you wanna do this, Frase? There are too many people around right now to just grab him."

"We'll pretend we're a couple of tourists, start asking him questions about his fishing, and get into his confidence. Then we'll get him somewhere less conspicuous, invite him to lunch. We'll then signal the van, they pull up, and we cuff him and throw him into the vehicle."

"Not a bad plan. I knew eventually I'd rub off on ya." The corner of Ray's mouth tipped up into a smile. "I know if you had your Mountie uniform on, you'd go charging in there, lasso him, and drag him off to the CSIS guys."

"Oh Ray, let's be reasonable."

Ray laughed. "I am, Frase. You and I have spent too many years working together, I know how you operate." They crossed the street and cautiously approached Charles Finley. By the time they reached him, he was knee deep in the ocean casting a line.

One of the things Ray hated most about his job was surveillance, which sometimes required spending hours in one place staring at inanimate objects, waiting for someone to appear. Hopefully their suspect. But in this case, it wasn't so bad watching a guy fish. Back home, if he had time and a good place to go, he'd grab his pole and fish in his off hours. He'd never tried it in the ocean before. Maybe, before they nabbed Chuck Finley, he would let him have a chance.

* * *

Sam felt like he was being watched, and his instincts told him it wasn't some hot bikini babe. He turned a little as he cast his line again and saw two men on the beach staring at him. The dark haired one in the preppy clothes looked like he was studying a specimen. The blonde with the spiky hair wearing an outfit similar to his own looked like he wanted something. _Hey, maybe they want me to do a job._ The line flew out into the surf and he slowly brought it back in. Still nothing. He shook his head and reeled it in completely, then turned and came out of the water. They were still there.

"Hi. Can I help you guys?"

"Not really. We were just watching you fish. Do you catch a lot out here," Fraser asked.

"Some days. Most days, I just come out here to think more than anything."

The blonde eyed his fishing rod. "That's some rig ya got there."

"Thanks. It's built for ocean fishing. I've got a buddy with a boat and sometimes I go out marlin fishing with him. You need a sturdy rod to catch one of those babies." He grinned, recalling the last one he and Virgil captured.

"Hey...mind if I give it a try?" The blonde stuck out his hand. "Name's Ray...Ray Vecchio. This is my friend Fraser."

Sam nodded and extended his hand. "Sam Axe. Sure, you can give it a shot, if you don't have a problem with a left-handed reel."

"I'll deal," Ray said with a smile as he took the rod from Sam. He kicked off his shoes and waded in just like Sam did. It took him a few tries to get used to the weight, the feel and the reel on the left side, but he was soon casting out like a pro.

"He's got some experience. Lake fishing, no doubt." He'd picked up on the guy's midwestern accent. "You guys from Chicago?" Sam met Fraser's stare and knew by the man's silent reaction that he'd hit it dead on.

"Well, Ray is. I'm from Canada."

Sam nodded. "And here I was thinking Michigan. Not much of an accent on you."

Fraser's eyes squinted as he studied Sam. "You're quite astute about such things."

"In my line of work, it helps. My friends and I, we help people who are having trouble with lawbreakers, extortionists, kidnappers, drug dealers, you name it. We...let's say we give them a resolution that the cops are unable or unwilling to pursue."

"I see."

"Do you need that kind of help? Is that why you two were standing here watching me?" Sam stood with his hands casually in his pockets, but he was on alert. There was something about these guys that got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"No. Not exactly. We need you..." Fraser hesitated as he watched his friend finish up with the rod and come back up the beach. "We'd like you to come with us."

"Why?" His radar was really up now. In his pocket, he hit the speed dial for Mike's phone, hoped he would pick up and hear their conversation. Then he'd have backup if things went south.

He heard a muffled response as Mike picked up.

"Excuse me, there's someone on your phone," Fraser said as he glanced down at the pocket in which Sam's hand figeted.

"Oh! Really? Well, yeah, how about that? Let me take this." Sam spoke into the phone. "Hey Mikey, how's it going?"

"Sam, you called me. What's going on?"

"Not much, I'm at the beach due east from my place. You know, where the pier is? Anyway, I'm out here fishing and these two guys just came over, we're hanging out, they're asking questions..."

"Sam, are you in trouble?"

"Maybe, don't know yet. We're going to head over to Carlito's, have some drinks, and talk."

"Fi and I will be there in ten minutes. Keep them busy."

"Will do, Mike. See you soon." He closed off the connection and sighed. That turned out better than he anticipated. "So, how about it, guys? Wanna go over to Carlito's? They've got some of the best food and drinks in town, and it's reasonable, too."

Fraser and Ray looked at each other. "Sure, why not?"

"Great. We can even walk over there, it's just up the way a couple blocks. Let me ditch my gear in my car first." He walked to the car, put everything in the trunk, and led them to his team's favorite watering hole.

* * *

Ray had to fight to keep himself from getting giddy. _This was just too damn easy! And this guy is supposed to be a spy?_ Finley was leading himself right into their trap, but Ray suspected that the guy maybe got suspicious and was playing it safe by going to a place he knew well. He and Fraser could both see it in the way he looked at them as he made small talk along the way. He was almost sorry that their mission would be over so soon, because Ray never even had a chance to get out and sample the nightlife.

Fraser and Ray followed Finley to the bar, all the while looking around and calculating where was the best location for the van. It followed them and passed, and Fraser watched it turn off a side street before coming back. The driver found a space near the open air bar. Now they needed to situate Finley at a table on the outside, back facing north, and he would be in the perfect position to grab.

"Here, let's sit here," Finley said as he indicated a table half way into the establishment. "This is where I usually sit with my friends."

"Ah, I was hoping we could find something closer to the sidewalk," Fraser said.

Finley gave him a grin and chuckled. "I get it. It's a better view of the babes. But trust me, this table is better if you wanna talk." He pulled out a chair looking toward the street and sat.

_So much for that plan._ Fraser glanced at Ray and realized that his friend had been thinking the same thing. "Well then, allow me to get the first round." Fraser made a move toward the bar. "What would you care for?"

"Come on, sit down, Frase." He raised an arm and the server came over. "Consuela! Por favor!" He gave her a big grin.

"Hello, Sam. What'll it be today?"

"Well, let's see what my friends want. Frase, Ray? I highly recommend the mojitos. Best ones in town are right here."

"Yeah, sure, I'll have one."

While Fraser didn't normally imbibe, he agreed. At least he'd get to experience something from Miami before they had to leave with their prisoner.

"Tres mojitos, Consuela."

"Coming right up, Sam."

Finley sat back in his chair and his eyes slid from one to the other behind his sunglasses. Fraser saw the movement, thanks to the way the late morning sun filtered into the place. The man was definitely suspicious. It was best to keep an eye on him, in case things went bad quickly. Fraser leaned back in his chair, giving the impression of being relaxed, but in reality he was on alert.

Finley spoke. "So, your friend says you're from Chicago, Ray. What do you do up there?"

"Not much, just a cubicle monkey."

"And you, Fraser?"

"I work in...security." It was true enough, if one considered all the times he spent on guard duty at a consulate that no one ever bothered to storm.

"Down here on vacation? I don't blame ya. It's cold up there now! After I retired from the Navy, I got a one way ticket to Miami and never regretted it." The drinks arrived, and he took a sip of his. "Oh yeah, just perfect Consuela." He turned toward her as she walked away. "Hey, tell Julio to keep 'em coming for me and my friends!"

That's all the time Ray needed. The second Finley turned his back, Ray dropped the powder into Finley's drink. Unfortunately, there was no time to mix it, so they would have to hope he didn't see the chemicals infusing into the liquid.

When Finley returned his attention to the men, Ray sat leaning forward over his drink, sampling it. "Wow, that's good."

"Yeah, didn't I tell you?" He grinned and took a long drag on his. "Hits the spot on a hot day. Come on, Fraser, give it a try!"

Fraser took a cautious sip. The high alcohol content hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes. Finley saw his reaction and laughed. Turning to Ray, he said, "Looks like your pal doesn't drink much."

"No, he doesn't. He's kind of a stick in the mud that way."

"So, what were you guys planning to do while you're here in Miami? You like to fish, I know a guy who rents boats for charter fishing out on the open water. Oh, and you gotta go do the airboat rides in the 'glades. Those are great!"

Fraser watched Finley as he spoke. His speech began to slur, and he was totally unaware that he was falling under the influence of the knock out drug that Ray had put into his drink. All they had to do was be patient and wait it out. Another few minutes, and a couple more downings like the first one, and Charles Finley would be incapacitated. Then, under the guise of being helpful, they would take him to the waiting van. Fraser would put on the restraints once he was inside, because they didn't want to attract too much attention.

"Okay, somethin's not right. I...I'm not feelin' so great." Finley's head bowed, and Fraser saw that it took him a great effort to keep upright in his chair.

"Hey, maybe we better get you home," Ray suggested.

"Yes. We'll get you home, and if you give us your keys, Ray or I can drive your car there."

"No, no, no. That's not necessary."

Fraser tried reasoning with him. "Really. We insist. You can't leave your car where it's parked all day, can you?"

"No." Finley lay his forehead on the table and let out a breath.

"Come on. Give me your keys, and we'll get you home." Ray held out his hand.

While Finley gave him the keys, Fraser waved the server over. "We'd like to settle the bill, please."

"Sam, are you okay?"

He lifted an arm and it dropped weakly. Then he tried lifting his head, but he only succeeded in turning it to rest on his left cheek as he looked at her. Or tried to. Fraser recognized the glassiness in his eyes. He was fighting it. Finley knew by now that they drugged him. It would still be useless for him to resist, but he could make a big enough fuss that someone would come to his aid.

"No, I'm not fine, Consuela. Call...call Mike." Then his eyes slid closed, and he was out.

"That's quite unnecessary, Miss," Fraser said as he stood and reached for Finley's arm. Ray stood and took the other one.

"Okay. I'll, uh, I'll just put these on Sam's tab. You better get him home. He's probably still recovering from that last case that he and Michael and Fiona handled."

"Excuse me, Consuela, these spies tell you about their missions?" Fraser asked her, incredulous that they would be so bold.

Consuela laughed, her smile lighting up. "They're not spies, sir. They have a, well, it's not really a detective agency, but...they help people. I really shouldn't talk about it any more than that." She looked past Fraser and noted a couple walking toward the bar. "Oh, look! There are Michael and Fiona right now! I'm sure if you stick around..."

"No thanks, we've gotta get going. Frase! Grab him!"

Consuela gasped and in her shock jumped back, giving them free access to Finley. Fraser grabbed one arm, and Ray the other. They hauled him out of the chair, letting it fall backwards to the floor. They draped his arms over their shoulders, and hustled to the black panel van that waited in a tow away zone.

"Sam? Sam!"

Fraser glanced down the street and saw the dark haired, well-built man and a slim woman with reddish brown hair walking toward them on the sidewalk. They gaped at Fraser, Ray, and Finley, and then the man started running toward them. "Now! Go!" He and Ray pushed Finley into the van, Fraser jumped inside, and Ray slid the door closed as it peeled away and down the street.

"Sam!" Fraser heard the woman scream. Finley must have firmly entrenched himself in Miami with his alias for even his friends to use the false name. Not unlike his friend Ray, when he took on another man's name to protect him from the mob while he worked undercover.

"Where are we headed now," Ray asked.

"MIA. The airport." The driver, Agent Foster, said with a confident smirk. "By the time Finley wakes up, he'll be in Chicago at the CSIS offices."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Michael!"

"Fi, get the car!"

She turned and ran back to where she parked next to Sam's car. By the time she unlocked it, got in and started it up, Michael was at the curb waiting for her to do a u-turn. He threw open the door and she took off before he had it closed.

"Who were those people?"

"I don't know, Fi. Don't lose them."

"I won't." The determination in her voice caused Michael to glance over at her, because he didn't expect to hear the fierceness in her voice.

Fiona and Sam started out as adversaries when he first arrived in Miami. When Sam was in between rich Miami women, he needed a place to stay and Michael let him camp out at the loft for a week. Fiona had been waiting, to his surprise. She and Sam were ready to tear each other's heads off, but once they began working together on Michael's projects, they'd gained a working respect for each other, and a friendship developed. So now Sam was in trouble, and she was willing to break every traffic law to rescue him.

Unfortunately, their quarry was good at evasion. An ill-timed semi blocked their way, and by the time it moved, the van was gone. Fiona's hands beat on the steering wheel as she let out a growl. "We lost him, Michael!"

"No, we haven't. Remember that tracker I installed on Sam's phone a couple of weeks ago for that job?"

"Yes?"

Michael turned to her and smiled as he held up his phone in his hands. A small map with a red blip appeared on the screen. "It's still working."

Fiona's smile matched his own. "As Sam would say, 'alrighty then'. Let's track it!" She took off on a red light, narrowly missed getting hit, and followed Michael's directions. They soon found themselves at the Miami airport, circling around to the cargo plane hangars. Several planes were going in and out of the area, and one of them could easily have been the one on which the kidnappers intended to steal away their friend. A guard at the gate stopped them.

"I'm sorry, folks, you can't come in here. Restricted area. The airport entrance is that way."

"We're not here to take a flight. We're looking for a black panel van that may have come in here a little while ago," Michael said as he held up his CIA badge. It was nice to see it finally came in handy. "We have reason to suspect that there are terrorists in that van, and we need to stop them before they take off. God only knows what they'll do then, crash into one of the high rises downtown...you don't wanna be responsible for that, do you?"

"Uh, no, no sir!" He pressed the button to lift the gate. "Go on in, sir!"

"Do you know which hangar they went to?"

"Y-yes. 14B, over there on the left."

"Thanks. Fi, punch it."

As they drove away, the guard yelled, "But I think they already went to the runway!"

Fiona drove like a crazy woman to the hangar and found the door open, but no airplane inside. They got out, staring at it. Michael scanned the area, not knowing which of the planes Sam could be on. He held up the phone, looking for the tracking signal. It was stopped, right where they were. With a dejected sigh, he slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Fi, they must have dropped his phone here somewhere."

"No, Michael, just the tracker." She held up the small device. "I found it on the hangar floor."

"Why didn't they bother just leaving his phone behind?"

She shook her head as she watched a small cargo plane lift off the runway into the sky. Behind her sunglasses, her eyes watered. She whispered. "What if Sam was on that one?"

"It's okay, we'll find out which plane he's on and its destination, and go from there. Come on, Fi. We've got work to do."

* * *

Fraser and Ray watched the couple from their hiding place behind some crates. Whoever they were, they were sincerely concerned about Finley. He was good. He managed to work his way into the hearts and minds of innocent people in Miami, becoming more than just acquaintances. Fraser could see it in the woman's body language. He was glad they didn't have to tangle with her. She was petite but muscular, and the hard edge to her lips told him that she was not one to be trifled with. Fi, as the man Michael called her, flipped her hair behind her shoulders with an angry snap as she got into the little blue car. He rode shotgun, staring at the empty hangar with a hard set to his face, as his fingers played with the tracker that Foster had taken out of Finley's phone. Apparently, they wanted the phone for evidence, but the tracker would only cause problems if the couple homed in on it.

"Frase, let's go. We've gotta get our stuff and hop the next plane back to Chicago. Although, if it were up to me, we'd hang out for awhile, catch some sun, try out the bars and the babes..."

"Ray, we have a job to do. We need to go to Finley's apartment and search it. Remember?"

"Oh yeah. Then can we take a break, enjoy a little of Miami before we hit a red eye?"

Fraser looked at his friend and felt sorry for him. The only reason he agreed to do this job was because of the allure of the warmth, the beaches, and the culture. Now he would be denied. Fraser sighed. "Alright, Ray. We'll leave tonight, unless we find something that needs to be delivered to the CSIS immediately."

"Great! We get this wrapped up, and then I'll try to book us on the last flight out."

Finley lived in a very nondescript building that was a motel with long-term rental options. Fraser went to the front desk to find out which room was Finley's, while Ray stopped and chatted with a woman who came out of her apartment in a skimpy suit and a towel. She was heading for the pool that was situated in the courtyard of the u-shaped building.

"Excuse me, ma'am." Fraser addressed the elderly woman behind the desk. She looked like she could be someone's kindly old grandmother.

She smiled. "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me which apartment Mr. Charles Finley lives in."

"Charles Finley? Sounds like a fella who should be staying in someplace posh, not here."

Fraser smiled. "Perhaps he goes by the name of Sam Axe?"

"Oh, yes, Sammy!" Her tone turned affectionate and her smile widened. "He's such a nice boy! Quiet, friendly, and he behaves himself too. No wild parties. He keeps strange hours sometimes, but he pays his rent on time and he's no trouble at all." She smiled. "Sometimes he even brings me my soap magazines when the new ones come out. He's such a sweetheart!"

"Yes, that would be Sam," Fraser said with a smile. "So, tell me, ma'am, which one is his apartment?"

"It's number 12, over there." She pointed to near where Ray stood talking to the woman. "But I haven't seen him at all today. No, wait, he came by for his fishing gear this morning, but I haven't seen him since."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am." He turned away and put his hand on the door.

"You're not the Feds, are you? He said he was done workin' for them."

"No, we're not Feds." Fraser left the office before she could ask any more questions. He passed Ray and the woman and approached the door with the keys that Finley gave them. "Ray...Ray...Ray!"

"What!"

Fraser inclined his head toward the door. "We have work to do."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, gotta run." Ray grinned at the woman. "Enjoy that pool for me, will ya?"

"Any time, baby." She grinned, waved, and turned toward the inviting looking water.

Ray sighed deeply and approached the door that Fraser opened. "I had some magic goin' on there, Frase, and you screwed it up."

Fraser gave him a stern look. "We have a room to search. Duty calls."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." Ray entered after Fraser and closed the door behind him.

It looked like any typical motel room with a kitchenette and the bathroom toward the back. Another door between the two led outside. Ray turned to the kitchenette to begin his search, and Fraser started with the bathroom. Inside the medicine cabinet he found the routine things: toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor that didn't look like it got a lot of use, a few bottles, aspirin and vitamins and other medications. Cologne. Deodorant. Nothing out of the ordinary. A comb sat on the sink near the soap dispenser. Fresh towels hung from the rack, which made sense. Finley spent the night in the Beacon and only came back for his fishing gear and to change clothes. A closet next to the bathroom yielded neatly hung hawaiian shirts of all colors and patterns, white linen pants, khakis and a pair of jeans. To one side a dry cleaner's bag contained a couple of suits. He checked the pockets and found nothing, then looked in the sneakers and a couple pairs of shoes that were lined up neatly on the closet floor. Fraser left the dirty laundry for last and came up empty there as well.

Their intel said that Finley had been in the military, special ops. When Fraser opened the top dresser drawer, he knew it had to be true. The closet was organized, but the perfect folds in the undershirts and boxer shorts, and the way the socks were laid out all were a dead giveaway. The man may have liked to dress casually, but he was still military precise, a man after Fraser's own heart.

Inside the night stand he found a paperback novel, a pair of glasses, and a small photo album. He flipped through the pages and saw photographs of Finley with his friends Michael and Fiona, and an older woman who bore a slight resemblance to Michael. Other than the items in the bathroom, closet and dresser, these were the only personal items Finley had in the room.

"This guy is careful," Ray said as he came out of the kitchenette. In his hand he held a small stack of folders. "Found these attached to the underside of a drawer."

"What are they?"

"Looks like he was investigating someone named Anson. We should take these along. Your CSIS buddies might want this info. Did you find anything, Frase?"

"No. Only this." He held up the photo album. "Look at these pictures, Ray. Either this man has firmly entrenched himself undercover in Miami, or he is not the man the CSIS is looking for."

"What. They're just pictures, Frase." Ray flipped through it quicker than Fraser did.

"Just take a closer look at the faces and some of the more candid shots of Finley. He's a good man, Ray. He didn't do what they said he did."

"Yeah, you got this from some pictures. Fraser, sometimes you're flaky, but this time, you're over the top. Come on! Let's bag all this up, grab our gear, and get out of here. Our plane leaves in six hours. There's still some time to have fun!"

Fraser locked up the room and noticed the maid cart outside a room two doors down. He approached it, looked down at the plastic bag containing the trash from the rooms, and slipped it out of the bin as he walked past. He held it so that the maid didn't see he'd taken it.

"What are you going to do with that, dumpster dive?"

"Yes, Ray." Fraser gave him the keys to the van.

"Okay, just promise me you won't do any tasting, okay? Please?" Ray glanced at him over his sunglasses as he got into the van.

"Scout's honor!"

Inside the larger bag he found smaller bags that must have come from the garbage cans in each room. As Ray drove them back to their hotel to check out, Fraser sought the bag that could only have come from Finley's room. It wasn't difficult. The other two inside contained things that only a woman would dispose of, which left one bag. Fraser tossed the others in back and exposed the more intimate details of Charles Finley's life.

"Ah, a receipt from Carlito's, but he shredded it by hand." Fraser found the pieces and put them together in his lap. "Looks like he paid off his tab the other day," Fraser remarked. "He used up a can of shaving cream yesterday. It appears that he had it for a long time. The bottom is slightly rusty. A used razor. Hmmm, nothing really of note here. The man chews a lot of gum." He pulled out a rosy colored wad and sniffed it.

"Fraser, no! You promised, no licking, no tasting!"

"I never said anything about smelling." He sniffed again. "Cinnamon. It's cinnamon gum."

"Oh yeah, that's gonna crack this case wide open." Ray parked the van in a space in front of the hotel. "Let's pack and get out of here. I wanna have some fun before we leave."

* * *

Michael and Fiona left the hangar and went straight to the CIA offices. He knew they could use the resources there to find the manifests of every cargo plane that left Miami that day, unless they were black ops, and if those were being watched by the agency, he could find information on them as well, with his clearance.

After logging into a computer, Michael called up the manifest records. Fiona watched over his shoulder, scanning along with him, hoping to pick up on something Michael might miss. They reached the end and scrolled back up to the top slowly.

"I think I found something, Fi." Michael pointed to the screen. "This one here says 'Expedited Delivery Service' hired this plane to take undisclosed cargo to Chicago O'Hare. There is no company by that name."

"Who would want to take Sam to Chicago, and why?"

"I don't know. But we're going to find out. Fi, let's go home and pack for cold weather. We're going to Chicago."

"We'll never catch up to them. They've had too much of a head start."

"But we've got CIA resources in Chicago who can help. I guess it wasn't all that bad that I got back into their good graces." He gave her a thin smile, and she responded with one of her own as she stroked the back of his head. "Let's go."

With time against them, they hurried to pack and Michael called in a favor to one of Sam's friends who owned a private jet. He filed a hasty flight plan, and by the time they arrived he was set with a takeoff time. Michael and Fiona had barely enough time to board, and the plane moved toward the runway.

Once they were in the air, Fiona spoke. "Michael, Sam was working on something..."

"I know, he was looking into Anson for me."

"Yes. Do you think maybe this has something to do with him?" That thought made her shiver. Because of Anson, she turned herself in to the FBI rather than sacrifice Michael to that monster and let himself be used by him. She spent months in prison, and she never thought she would see Michael again. But he got her out, and he was so afraid of losing her again that he married her. The scars of that time were still fresh, so she prayed that Sam would not fall under Anson's thumb. It was a very hellish place to be.

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Anson's got him, trying to get to me. Right now, I don't know. We just have too little to go on." He opened his laptop and started checking on possible leads. He sent Pearce an e-mail to let her know what they were doing, and asked if she could give him any information. She replied that she would look into it on her end and let him know.

"I hope we're right, that they're taking Sam to Chicago. Otherwise, it'll be like finding a needle in a haystack. He could be anywhere by now."

"It still might be like finding a needle in a haystack if he's somewhere in Chicago."

"Well," Fiona shrugged. "It narrows it down a bit."

"True." Michael went back to his work on the computer.

* * *

Sam woke up when the airplane wheels touched the runway with a thud. He was glad that whoever took him bothered to put on his seatbelt. With his hands cuffed and digging into his back, he was unable to hold himself in his seat. The engines roared as they reversed and slowed down the plane. Sam looked out the window. With all the places he'd been to in his career, he figured it was likely that he would recognize the airport, and he was right. _Chicago? What do these people want with me in Chicago?_ Someone at his right shoulder leaned over him and slammed down the window shade. Another man walked up the aisle and closed all the others. They obviously didn't want him to know where he was. But they were too late. Not that it did him any good, when he was trapped on an airplane and handcuffed. His options for escape were pretty slim.

"Who are you people?" He asked the husky dark haired man who wore a dark blue suit and held onto the seat as they cruised to their destination.

"Just be quiet. There'll be plenty of time for you to talk later, Finley."

_Finley. They think I'm Chuck Finley! _Sam held in a laugh. He never thought his alias would get him into trouble like this, but obviously it finally caught up with him. Whether it was his own government or another, Sam would have to bide his time for the answer. In the meantime, he would go with whatever they demanded he do, look for a way out, and then take it.

The airplane stopped and the engines whined as they slowly shut down. Dark Suit Guy snapped a blindfold over Sam's eyes and tied it tightly behind his head.

"Hey, you mind loosening that up a bit? I'd like to keep the circulation in my head."

Dark Suit Guy sighed and grumbled under his breath. Sam thought it sounded like French, but he wasn't sure. The blindfold loosened just enough for him to see a sliver of light if he looked down, but nothing else. Dark Suit Guy unsnapped his seatbelt, grabbed his right arm, and pulled him up to stand.

"Jeez, you don't have to be so rough! Just tell me you want me to get up!"

"Move." He yanked Sam into the aisle and gave him a small push.

Without his hands to use for balance, Sam stumbled forward into the ample gut of Dark Suit Guy's companion.

"Hey, be careful. We don't want the guy beat up before it's time."

Sam regained his equilibrium and the man took his elbow.

"Come on, let's go." His voice was calmer than Dark Suit Guy's, and Sam instantly recognized the good cop, bad cop tactic playing out. He wasn't falling for it.

"Where are you taking me?"

Good Guy answered him. "Not to worry, Mr. Finley. We'll take good care of you, as long as you cooperate. I don't want to have to sic my partner on you. He loves to eat spies for lunch."

When they reached the stairs, a blast of icy cold air hit his bare arms and legs. "Ohhhh." Sam's breath exploded out of his chest as if he'd just been dunked into icy water, and his entire body shook from the cold.

"Hang on, Mr. Finley, we'll have you someplace warm soon. I promise. Come along."

Sam's feet touched the tarmac and the guy hurried him toward a waiting vehicle. He gently shoved him inside and sat between him and the door. Dark Suit Guy got in on the other side, the doors slammed, and they were off to somewhere. He slowly warmed up wedged between them as they rode through the streets of Chicago's suburbs. Sam wasn't familiar with the city, but he could at least keep track of the number of times they turned. Unfortunately, it didn't help much once they got on a freeway. It took them into the city, and after that, it was difficult to pay attention to all the changes in direction.

They finally stopped and his handlers got Sam out of the SUV. From the echo, he assumed they were in a parking structure. They walked twenty paces and entered an elevator that took them higher and higher. Eventually, it stopped, they got out, and turned right. He heard a keypad combination being pressed, a door lock clicked, and they pushed him forward.

"Sit here."

Sam used his leg to find the chair and sat. Temporarily, they removed the cuffs and locked his wrists into separate restraints attached to the chair arms, and then the blindfold came off. The light in the room was muted, but he still blinked until his eyes adjusted. The place was very sparsely furnished with a metal table and two metal armchairs, and there were no windows.

"Nice place ya got here," he said with a sarcastic tone.

"Just stay here, Finley. We'll be back."

Dark Suit Guy and his sidekick, Light Suit Guy, left the room. A woman came in not long after, dressed in a dark suit with subtle pinstripes. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face in a very unflattering style, and the ends curled under at her collar.

Light Suit Guy came back, and she cocked her head toward Sam. The man unlocked one of the cuffs, then the other, and said, "Get up."

Dark Suit Guy returned at that moment and stood near the door, his large physical presence daring Sam to try to make a break for it.

"What do you want from me?"

"Empty out your pockets, Mr. Finley," the woman said with little emotion.

"You've got the wrong guy."

She only stared at him, her eyes unbelieving.

With a sigh, Sam did as he was told. He didn't have much to pull out. He tossed his wallet on the table in front of him, a money clip with a few bucks in it, his phone, and some sticks of gum. His keys were missing. "My keys." He patted his pocket where he knew he always kept them.

"Don't worry about your keys. Is this everything?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of." He pulled out a few coins and laid them on the table, along with a pocket knife and lock picking tools. "Okay, that's it."

"Thank you for being so cooperative. You may be seated again." The woman rifled through the things he set on the table. She seemed to be very interested in his wallet and his phone.

Sam watched as she opened the wallet and examined the few things inside. He kept his drivers license in there along with an ATM card, a couple of credit cards that he used only for business, and a few business cards. She handed the wallet to Light Suit Guy. "Check out the transactions on these."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you have a warrant to do that? This is America, lady, and there are laws about looking at peoples' credit card statements and bank accounts without a court order." Not that his team ever let that stop them, but he was trying to make a point in his case.

"Right now, Mr. Finley, where you're sitting is considered Canadian soil. We can do whatever we want."

Sam knew better than that, but he decided not to press it. He watched as she touched the screen on his phone and looked through his address book. Then she flipped through some of the photos he kept on it, and a few other personal things. Sam hoped that in the process of looking fruitlessly for whatever she wanted, she would discover that he wasn't really Chuck Finley. Then maybe this whole thing would be straightened out and he could go home.

Sam studied her, thinking that she looked familiar. Then he remembered: it was the woman he met at the bar, the one he shared drinks with, the one who probably paid for the room at the Beacon and left him high and dry. She must have been wearing a long haired wig back then, because except for the hair, he was certain that it was the same woman.

"Was it good for you," he asked with a smart-aleck expression as he waited for her to look at him.

Her lips parted slightly as she tore her attention away from the phone. "You remember."

"Of course. I just wish I knew what happened after the drinks at the bar." He turned on a charming smile. "I hope I didn't miss anything good."

"Don't worry. Nothing happened." She replied tartly and stood. "I have to say, you've covered your tracks quite well, Mr. Finley. Or is it okay if I call you Charles?"

"I'm not Charles Finley. That's just an alias."

"Oh please, don't play games with us! This Sam Axe is a good cover. It's permeated everything you do, apparently. Your ID, credit cards, all have your alias on them. Your phone is a wealth of information about your alter ego. Very clever, Charles."

"It's not a cover. It's who I am." Sam knew it could be dangerous to reveal his true identity, but it was a gamble he had to take. His life was an open book on his phone, they had the information staring them in the face, but they refused to believe it was true.

"We'll be back." She nodded to the guys in the suits and they handcuffed Sam to the chair again, then followed her out the door. It closed solidly.

"Great. Now what?" He glanced up at the ceiling. "I wonder if they got Mike and Fi too."

Sam was left alone so long, he had no idea how much time had passed. When they took his things, they also stripped off his watch, so he couldn't tell what time it was. There were no windows to look out of, so he couldn't see the change in light. Realizing he would probably be there for awhile before anyone returned, he decided to try to get some sleep. It was a little cool in the room, but that wouldn't matter. He was no stranger to sleeping in extreme conditions, including sitting up and tied to a chair. He simply let out a few breaths, relaxed, and let his head fall to his chest. In no time at all, he was asleep.

* * *

Michael looked out the window and saw the Sears tower on the left. Their pilot was taking them over the lake before swinging around to a final approach and landing at O'Hare airport. After that, Michael had no idea where they would go. He had no clues to go on and Chicago was a big city. But not all hope was lost, because he had the signature of the internal GPS on Sam's phone. The tracker had been installed for a longer distance. But if they got close enough, he might be able to pick up a signal from Sam's phone and locate him that way. As long as they didn't dump it somewhere and move him to a different location.

The pilot parked the jet away from the terminal. Fiona went ahead of Michael carrying a small suitcase, and he retrieved his along with a suit bag that contained more formal clothing if they needed it. They trotted down the stairs and shivered against the cold, even though they both wore winter jackets. Fiona put a wool beret on her head and gloves on her hands.

"Well, where to now, Michael?"

"That plane over there." He indicated it with his chin. "That's the one that brought Sam here. I recognize the tail numbers."

"Let's go check it out!"

"Fi, be careful!" Michael fell into step with her. As they neared it, he noticed that there were no crew members around. The door was open, which meant they were either inside or nearby. He dropped his luggage on the tarmac and she did the same. Then he cautiously climbed the steps and went inside.

There were three rows of seats two on two, and a wall that separated them from the cargo area. He and Fiona checked the area with the seats for any sign that Sam had been there. They were just about ready to give up, but then Fiona found something wedged in between a seat and its back. She pulled it out, held it up, and smiled. "Sam was here. It's his favorite gum."

"At least we know he's here in Chicago, but where?"

A throat cleared, and they turned toward it. "What are you people doing here?" A man wearing captain's stripes glared at them.

"Oh, I'm sorry! We thought this was our plane!" Michael spoke in a heavy southern accent. "Come on, Lula, looks like we goofed! It's gotta be 'round here somewheres!"

Fiona giggled and snapped the gum that she hastily unwrapped and chewed on when the captain interrupted them. She followed Michael out of the plane, stopping long enough to run her hand over the man's jacket front and give him a sultry look. "I love a man in uniform."

"Lula! You stop flirtin' with that guy, or I'll..."

"Comin', Homer! Sheesh, he's so jealous!" She giggled. "Byebye, honey!" She waggled her fingers at him and hurried down the stairs, leaving him staring after her longingly.

"That was too close. Let's get a car and see if we can figure out where Sam is."

After renting a car, they drove into the city and spent the first day driving up and down the streets, trying to locate the signal from Sam's phone. If the battery died, they would be out of luck. Time was ticking away, and they were on a wild goose chase.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Mr. Finley, wake up."

It was her voice again, only not so harsh this time. Maybe he'd just been dreaming, recalling a time back in East Berlin where there'd been a similar scenario involving a beautiful woman on the wrong side of the Cold War, only that time, things ended a lot different.

"Charles, please wake up."

"I'm Sam. Sam Axe. Don't you get it? Somebody around here screwed up." He opened his eyes and raised his head to glare at her, his implication clear.

"We know we have the right man." It must have been a new day, because she wore different clothes, a cream colored blouse with dark brown slacks and matching high heeled shoes, and her hair was styled nicely. If not for the situation, he would consider her quite attractive. She perched on the edge of the table again, crossed her arms, and looked down at him. "Where were you on August 25th, 2011?"

"Now, hold on a second. You think you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are. Seems a little unfair, if not rude." He grinned. "I've got an idea. How about I call you...oh..." He was wracking his brains, trying to come up with an actress that she reminded him of, but he couldn't think of a single one.

She interrupted his thoughts abruptly and said, "You're right. My name is Grace Chatham. I'm an agent with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."

"Ahh, the CSIS. You know, you guys give Canadians a bad name."

She ignored the jab and put on a scowl as she spoke. "Mr. Finley, I will only ask you this again one more time. Where were you on August 25th, 2011?"

"Where do you think I was?" He was stalling for time as he tried to recall what he was doing on that day. Maybe if he answered her questions honestly, she would soon see the futility of it all and give up.

"Answer the question. Where were you on August 25th, 2011? Were you in Vancouver?"

"Vancouver? Not likely. Check my passport and you'll find that out real quick."

"We're working on that. It would go a whole lot easier on you, though, if you just answered the questions." She got closer and looked into his eyes with her deep hazel ones. "I'd hate to have to resort to other measures to get the answers out of you."

"The answers you want, you mean."

"We will get what we need from you. It's just a matter of time."

"Sorry to disappoint you, sister." He met her eyes and told her. "On August 25th, 2011, I was sitting in a hospital room in Miami waiting for my friend Mike to regain consciousness. He'd been shot by another friend."

She smirked and began to slowly pace. "Nice friends you have."

"It wasn't like that. He was trying to save Mike's life, and if he hadn't shot him, Mike would have been killed by someone else."

"I see. And while all this shooting was going on, where were you?" He could tell by the look in her eyes she didn't believe a word of what he was saying.

"I was with another friend of Mike's, watching helplessly as everything happened in front of us." The memory of that incident still brought to mind the frustration and pain of not being able to help.

"So on August 25th, you were in Michael's hospital room watching over him."

"Yes. You can check the hospital records for a Michael McBride." Sam gave her the name of the hospital. He knew he was really taking a risk, but if they wanted to pin something on him and didn't care about anything else, Mike and Fi would be safe. He had to do whatever he could to protect them, and if meant revealing a little information to back up his story and cause them to focus solely on him, he was willing to do it.

"I'll check on this story of yours. But first," she paused, turned away briefly, and returned with a bottle of water. "I thought you might be thirsty."

The last time Sam had anything to drink, it was at Carlito's when he was with those two guys, Fraser and Ray. He looked at the bottle, then up at her. He was dying for that water, but at what cost? She smiled.

"No, I didn't drug it. We want you awake for awhile, so you can help us out. Watch, it's sealed." She snapped the cap, unscrewed it, and came forward, getting down to his level so she could tip the bottle for him to drink.

"It...it would work a lot easier if you'd just undo one of these cuffs." He glanced down at his left wrist and saw the metal rubbed a rough red mark around it. The right one was no better. He must have worked against them in his sleep.

"I can't. Sorry." She smiled again, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was actually a little remorse in the expression. For a country famous for its polite people, their spies were a whole different lot. She let him drain the bottle completely before asking, "Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine."

He knew that she knew that he was starving. But if getting a good meal in him helped their cause, he wasn't going for it. Food he could live without for awhile. Water was essential.

"Fine. I'll make sure you get another bottle of water. First I want to check your story. If it's legitimate, then you get the water. If not, we're back to the beginning of our little chat."

Sam was alone again, and he wondered at the extent of the failure in Canadian intelligence in this situation. Agent Chatham needed to work on her investigative skills a little more, because holding Americans unjustly would cost them dearly if they made a regular practice of it.

* * *

Charles Finley was going to be a tough guy. Agent Chatham had been warned when she accepted this assignment that he could be difficult. Interrogation was, unfortunately, not her strong suit. Investigating was, but on this case she was working with intel from other agents, so she had to trust that what she'd been given was true. Her supervisor suggested she take this challenge to upgrade her skills, said it would be a virtual slam dunk if she did it right. But Chuck Finley wasn't going to make it easy.

"Agent Chatham, how did it go?"

"He's not giving up anything. He still insists that he's this Sam Axe character." She reported to Director Julliard, her supervisor. He was in Ottawa at the moment, purposely keeping his distance to give her the freedom to do her job. "He gave me some story about where he was on August 25th, but I don't buy it." She related what Finley gave her.

"I want our Chicago people to look into this."

"Why? It's just a fabrication."

"Perhaps. But if it's true about the events in Miami on that day, then we need to figure out how Finley knew about it. He may be even more clever than we thought, completely taking on the identity of another man."

"Unless the man we're holding really isn't Finley."

"No, our intel was solid. This is the guy." Julliard let out a breath. "I thought he would be easier than this. We've had people watching him for the past couple of months in Miami, once we determined that he'd gone there. Unfortunately, he wasn't acting like a man whose kidnapping and extortion plot just failed."

"Who would suspect a man who was acting like any other beach bum?" Agent Chatham had read the file on Finley's activities in Florida. Most of the time, if he wasn't at a bar, he was fishing or hanging out at the beach trying to pick up women. It was an almost too perfect strategy. Act like a tourist and blend in. But there were other questionable activities that alerted their agents, signs that he was planning something, investigating all his options before executing a new plan. Put together, none of it made sense.

"I have some more information on Finley, his whereabouts and activities in British Columbia before the kidnapping. I've e-mailed the file to you, encrypted."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll see if any of this jogs his memory."

"Good luck, Grace."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Call me if you need anything else."

After hanging up with the director, she checked her e-mail, opened the file, and printed out all the information. It was a timeline of Finley's actions before the kidnapping, with a gap during the act itself, and resumed when he left for Florida. Large chunks were missing, but she had enough to try to get the rest. Maybe she could offer him a deal if he cooperated. After all, the kidnapping was aborted after only a day, and the Prime Minister's daughter was left in a safe place, the authorities alerted, and she had been well taken care of during her captivity. That would go well in his favor.

Other than getting him to admit to the kidnapping and attempting to wring ten million dollars out of the Prime Minister, her other concern was finding out what he'd been doing since then. The intelligence from their Florida operatives gave glimpses of his movements around town interviewing people, visiting the CIA offices, and taking trips out of the city to scout locations. It was all quite intriguing and worrisome at the same time. Perhaps Finley wasn't acting alone, and someone in the CIA was helping him.

They'd hoped that Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski's search of his apartment would give up the key to the whole thing, but they were still left with nothing new. She picked up the file folders containing information that Kowalski found in Finley's apartment. It was a dossier and other information on a man named Anson. She read it, and it gave her the creeps. Not many people's files did that to her, but this one did. If Finley had ties to Anson, he could be extremely dangerous. _It's imperative that we find out the truth before Finley and Anson do something more sinister than kidnap a politiican's daughter._

Grace sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was getting a headache thinking of all the possibilities. After grabbing some aspirin and washing them down, she went back to the room to conduct another round of interrogation.

She found Finley leaning forward slightly in his chair, eyes closed, his lips barely moving. "Are you a praying man, Mr. Finley?"

"Huh?" He looked up at her, surprised, yet with a look that asked why she took so long.

"I asked if you were praying." She crossed her arms.

"No, just keeping track of time."

She gave him a look of disbelief as she glanced at him sideways. Grace stepped to the area of the floor that was noticeably worn compared to the other linoleum tiles. It was the place of control, where interrogators browbeat their subjects into submission.

"Do you know why we're holding you, Charles?"

"Maybe if I were Charles I'd know, but I'm not, so no, I have no freakin' clue."

"Oooo, there's no need to get hostile." She set Finley's file on the table, placed another water bottle where he could see it, and walked around him. She touched his shoulder with her hand, a gentle caress, but he shrugged it off. "You know I really liked you when we met. You're charming, funny, and intelligent. I could see that right off the bat." She leaned over his right shoulder and spoke softly. "I could also see that you're a passionate man, Chuck, and that you have a kind heart deep down. I suspect maybe that's why you stopped the kidnapping..."

"The only kidnapping I'm seeing is what's going on here. I'm an American citizen, lady, and you're holding me against my will! Unless you've got a warrant for my arrest or something, and I have no idea why you would, you should really just let me go now." He turned his head so his face was only inches from hers. "It'll go a lot easier on you. End this now before it becomes an international incident." His eyes showed his earnestness as he said, "And don't think I won't make it one."

"Chuck," Grace patted his shoulder and walked back to the table. "Maybe you can help fill in a few blanks for me, and things will go a lot smoother for you." She tapped the full water bottle on the table surface.

"I've already told you, I'm not Chuck Finley!" It was difficult to make any sound bounce off the walls in that small room, but he managed to do it.

"Fine. Tell me who you really are." She leaned against the table, stretched out her legs, and played with the water bottle, twisting the top just far enough to make the seal crack, then tightening it.

"My name is Sam Axe. I was born in San Diego, California, June 22, 1958. My dad was stationed there at the time. I won't bore you with my childhood, let's just say it wasn't great, just my mom and me most of the time. We moved a lot. In high school I played varsity football, got a scholarship to Annapolis. Graduated, joined the Navy as an officer, made it to Commander before being discharged." The memory of how that happened shadowed his face, and she didn't miss it.

She cocked her head. "Why were you discharged?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. It's not important anyway. After they discharged me, they gave me a ticket to Miami and I've been there ever since. Hooked up with an old friend, and I help him out on cases."

Her eyebrows rose. "Cases? What kind of cases?"

"Can't talk about it. Client confidentiality, you know?"

Grace smiled slightly. "What about your time in the Navy? Can you talk about that?"

"Not really. I was a SEAL, so a lot of what I did is still classified. But I will tell you I've been held as a prisoner of war, and they interrogated me a lot harder than you, lady. If you'd like, you could ask those guys how well I did." He sneered as he leaned forward. "Oh wait, you can't do that, because they're all dead."

She laughed, tilting her head back, and then looked at him as she sobered. "Is that a threat, Chuck?"

"Take it as you will."

She ignored the challenge in his eyes. "So this is your story."

"Yes. You wanted the truth, and that's what I've given you. Look, if you Canadians have computers, five minutes, I guarantee, just five minutes of research and you'll find out that I'm who I say I am."

Dark Suit Guy came into the room, softly cleared his throat, and said, "Agent Chatham, you have a phone call."

"I'll be back." She set the bottle down on the table hard enough to make the contents slosh up into the neck.

Sam smirked. "I can hardly wait." When she left, he stared at the bottle, his body aching with the desire to get to it.

* * *

"Ray, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault my Florida vacation was anything but. It's the Dragon Lady's fault, and the CSIS, and that Finley guy. If he hadn't been so easy to pick up, we could have gone out to dinner, the nightclubs, had a great old time until he finally appeared. But no, he had to act just like a normal guy and get himself picked up like a rookie."

"Oh dear." Fraser's eyes widened as he froze in place on the sidewalk.

Ray stopped and turned. "Fraser, what is it?"

"Remember when we searched Finley's apartment, and I said that he didn't look like a man who could do what he was accused of doing?"

"Yeah, so?"

"What if this man is not Charles Finley? He would have had no clue that he was being tailed, and so would have made it easy to catch!"  
"I think you're nuts. I think you needed that vacation more than me!"

"I spoke with Agent Chatham this morning, and she told me that he's been claiming to be someone named Sam Axe. The identification he was carrying backs up his claims. However, they don't believe him." Fraser turned one hundred eighty degrees and started walking again, and Ray lengthened his stride to keep up.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the station. I want to find out all I can on Mr. Axe."

They returned to the precinct and Fraser parked himself in front of Francesca's computer. The civilian aide had taken the day off to go shopping. If she knew Fraser was touching her keyboard, no doubt she would have fainted and then vowed never to clean it again. Ray went to his desk to catch up on paperwork and messages. After tossing most of them aside, he grabbed a cup of coffee and approached Fraser. "So what did you come up with?"

"I found a wealth of information on Commander Samuel Axe. I was able to access the records of the Florida DMV. His first Florida drivers license was issued in 2005 after his discharge from the Navy, and since then he's resided in Miami. Thanks to Leftenant Welsh, I was able to view Department of Defense records, at least those that weren't classified. Here is the man's military file." Fraser showed Ray the document on the screen.

Ray studied the serious expression on the man in the photograph accompanying the record. In his mind's eye, Ray aged him a little and gave him a more relaxed look. "That's the guy, Fraser. Wow, he had a long stint with the SEALs. Think we've got enough proof to give the CSIS?"

"I'm still waiting for the print analysis from what I lifted off the photo album, but with the information I've collected, I'd say it's very likely that they have the wrong man."

Ray fanned the printouts that the Mountie gave him. "Fraser, how'd you manage all this in two hours?"

"Fast fingers." Fraser stood, grabbed his coat and hat, and said, "Let's go grab some lunch and we'll discuss this. I want to be sure that I'm right before we go to the CSIS."

"Fine. Once you get those prints, we can work this out. You know they're holding an American citizen, not to mention a military veteran, illegally."

"I know, Ray. That's one of the reasons I looked into this. I don't like to see an innocent man falsely accused, and I don't like seeing my countrymen mistreating a citizen, whether from Canada or another country."

"Mistreating? Fraser, what are these people going to do with him?" He stopped in front of a diner near the station.

"It was a figure of speech, Ray." Fraser held the door open for Ray and a couple who followed him in. They sat in a booth, and Fraser and Ray took the only other unoccupied booth behind them.

"I can't believe they didn't find this stuff out before they...we...grabbed this guy!" Ray ran a hand over his face. "Fraser, if this is all just some big mistake, I helped kidnap my own countryman!"

* * *

Michael picked up the menu, but the moment he heard the man behind him speak, he glanced at Fiona. By the look on her face, he knew that she heard him as well. He placed the menu back into the rack, got up, and gestured with his head for Fiona to follow him. They stood before the guy in the Mountie suit and the man who spoke.

He kept his voice low as he leaned over and got into the blonde guy's face. "Did I just hear you say you kidnapped someone?"

The guy who looked like an older version of James Dean met Michael's stare. The truth was in his ice blue eyes, even as he lied. "Nah, you must have been hearing things."

For the second time in as many days, Michael whipped out his CIA badge. He straightened, and with a hard grin he spoke, only louder. "Let's try this again. You said you kidnapped someone." The man shifted, and something silver glinted on a shoulder holster. It was a badge. "You realize that's a Federal offense, and woah, look at that, Fi. He's a cop!"

They were starting to attract attention, something none of these men wanted. Ray rasped. "It's not like what it sounds like."

"Great, so why don't you explain," Michael replied as he sat on the bench seat next to him and threw his arm up over the back. Fiona took the seat next to the Mountie as she gave him a long hard look.

"Who are you?"

"Michael Westen and my wife, Fiona." Fiona nodded at them.

"Constable Benton Fraser, and my partner, Det. Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD." Michael and Fiona gave him strange looks. "I came to Chicago on the trail of my..."

Ray interrupted him abruptly. "Never mind, long story. What do you want?"

Michael replied. "We're here in Chicago on the trail of our friend Sam Axe's kidnappers. You know anything about this?"

"Sam Axe?" Fraser asked, his eyes widening as he glanced at Michael and Fiona.

"Yes, this is him." Fiona pulled out a small folio, and inside were photographs. She flipped through to one of Sam and showed it to Fraser.

He recognized it. A larger version was in the photo album that he turned over to the CSIS after dusting it for prints. "That's our man. Ray."

Fiona held up the photograph so he could see it, and Ray muttered a curse under his breath as he pressed his face into one hand.

Michael stared at the Mountie intently. "Where is he?"

"He's at the Canadian Security Intelligence Service offices on LaSalle," Fraser answered. "Ray and I were about to discuss this situation, and as soon as we hear back on some more information, we were planning on going there to set the record straight."

"What are you waiting for?" Michael asked, leaning forward.

"Print matchup," Ray answered, just as his phone rang. "Hang on a second. Kowalski." He listened for quite awhile. "Okay, thanks a lot, Lieutenant...yes, this is, Sir. Thanks."

"Ray, what did Leftenant Welsh have to say?"

"Those prints you lifted off that photo album got a match. Your pals at the CSIS have the wrong guy! He really is Sam Axe." Ray shook his head. "We better get over there fast. Welsh says the State Department got wind of this and they're not happy. They've called the Canadian Consulate and the CSIS, and there are probably a few people who are getting chewed out right about now."

"Looks like lunch will have to wait," Fiona said as she stood. "Gentlemen?"

As they left the diner, Ray added. "Apparently, the CIA," he glanced at Michael, "has a better intelligence gathering team than the CSIS. They vouched for your guy, and they've been able to track the real Chuck Finley down to Miami. So he's still there while we've been screwin' around up here."

"Great. So where's the CSIS office again?" Michael led them to the rental car and unlocked it. "Get in, you're showing us."

Fraser and Ray got into the back seat and gave him directions. Michael found a parking space directly in front of the building, which would be good if the extraction took more effort than necessary and they needed a quick getaway.

"Michael, maybe I should stay here. Keep the car warm." Fiona smiled.

He smiled back, loving how she read his mind. "Okay, Fi." He gave her the keys.

"Good luck, boys!" She got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

* * *

The lack of sustenance was taking its toll. Sam leaned forward in the chair, his stomach cramping from the lack of food, and again, water. That bottle still sat on the table, mocking him with its presence. He would have tried to move his chair over to it, but it was bolted to the floor. Even if he could get to the table, then what? His hands weren't free. He wouldn't be able to open the bottle.

Agent Chatham must not have liked the information he gave her, because she should have been back by now. Maybe, once she learned who he really was, she found someone who was far more interested in him than the Canadian government. They were probably waiting to turn him over to the interested party. _Was it Anson? _It wouldn't surprise him that if he had something good on him, Anson would try to discredit Sam or get him out of the way for awhile. Like he did with Fiona.

He heard the door lock click, and Agent Chatham walked into the room. It closed behind her, and she let out a long slow breath before sitting on the edge of the table. "I checked into your story. And I had some other information pass my desk just a little while ago."

"So?"

"You're not the Chuck Finley we've been looking for."

"Congratulations, you finally figured it out!"

Her jaw tightened. She approached him slowly, pulling a key out of her pocket. As she unlocked the cuffs, her words came out stiffly. "Mr. Axe...on behalf of myself, the CSIS, and the Canadian government, I...apologize...for the misunderstanding."

Sam chuckled mirthlessly and met her eyes. She wasn't used to saying sorry, and it only made his exoneration much sweeter. "Misunderstanding? Agent Chatham, this never would have happened if you'd done your homework before going after me! My friends and I can do a better job of gathering intel before we try to bag someone. Jeez!"

She blinked. "We dropped the ball. I'm sorry."

"You bet you did, _Agent_." Sam rubbed his newly freed wrists and stood up too fast, but he held his ground because he was too angry to pass out now. "Maybe you need to go back to the Cracker Jack boxes and see if you can find a new super secret agent decoder ring."

She looked down at his things that she held in her hands. "I suppose I, and my agency, deserve that."

Sam snatched the items from her as he replied. "Yes, you do." He quickly stuffed his belongings into his pockets and put his watch on his wrist.

"I'll be right back." She looked up at him with a plea in her eyes. "Please, don't try to leave."

He watched her go. The door closed and latched. "Well, duh, the door locks." He yelled at no one. "How am I gonna go anywhere?" Sam swept up the water bottle, twisted the cap open with all his strength, and downed it before anyone could return and take it away.

When the door clicked again, Sam was trying to call out with his phone, but a cell signal wouldn't permeate the walls. He looked up, not expecting Michael to come walking into the room. "Mikey, I was just trying to call you. I didn't think anyone was ever gonna find me!"

He studied his friend. The skin beneath his eyes bore dark circles, and his scruff looked wilder than usual. "You look like hell, Sam, but they didn't beat you up. What'd they do?"

"Drugged me, put me on a plane to Chicago, locked me up in this room for who knows how long without food and water." He paused and squinted at him. "Did you break in?"

"No, they let me in. There was a 'miscommunication' in the CSIS, and they're releasing you."

"They're a bunch of morons, Mike. They thought I was Chuck Finley. A real Chuck Finley. They didn't even bother to do any homework first to find out I wasn't who they thought I was, and..."

"We know, Sam. We'll talk about this later. Right now, I want to get you out of here before Fi gets impatient and comes up shooting."

Agent Chatham appeared in the open door, and Sam glared at her. "Next time, why don't you do some research first, Chatham?"

She smiled, although there was no joy in it. "We won't make the same mistake twice, Mr. Axe."

"Well, I guess you're not totally hopeless then."

"I said we were sorry. I don't know what else we can do."

"Let me go." Sam said. "And just be glad I don't sue your government for ineptitude."

"Fine, get out of here, now. I don't ever want to see either of you again." Agent Chatham stepped aside and let them walk out the door.

They could feel her eyes on them as they moved down the hall. When they arrived in the lobby, two men stood out from the crowd by the elevators.

"You guys," Sam said, pent up emotion tempting him to punch their lights out, but he restrained himself. Michael's hand on his arm didn't hurt either. "Are you part of this agency?"

"No, Mr. Axe," Fraser answered. "My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers, and for reasons that aren't worth exploring at this juncture, I remained here as a liaison..."

"Fraser, don't bore the guy. He doesn't care!"

"Well, that explains why you look like Dudley Do Right." Sam glanced up and down at the man dressed in red serge and the traditional riding pants and laced up boots. He held his Mountie hat under his arm. Sam turned his attention to the other man he'd known as Ray. "What about you?"

"Detective Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD. I got roped into this, assisting the Canadian government to find Charles Finley." He looked intently at Sam and said, "I'm sorry. I should have gotten a better idea on what they had before they sent us down to Miami."

Sam nodded. The adrenaline from his anger was starting to wear off, and fatigue was setting in. He turned his attention to Michael. "You know, Mike, if there is a Charles Finley spy running around Miami, we should try to locate him."

"He's not a spy. He's wanted by the Canadian government, though." Ray said. "They said he kidnapped the Prime Minister's daughter."

"Yeah, I know." He glanced over his shoulder at Chatham. "They tried pinning that on me."

"One thing they did get right is that the real Charles Finley is in Miami, and according to our country's intelligence, he's still there." Michael glanced at Sam, then turned his attention to Ray and Fraser. "Perhaps we should find someplace where we can discuss this, and when we get back to Miami, my team and I will look into it."

Sam let out a sigh and turned his attention to Agent Chatham. She looked ready to kick them out by the seat of their pants. "As much as I hate to say it, Mikey, I think we better include the CSIS. That way everybody's on the same page and we don't have any more mixups."

"Good idea, Sam." He addressed the woman who stood near the front desk, arms crossed defensively, no doubt still stinging from the errors of her agency. "Agent Chatham? Would you care to join us for an intelligence sharing session?"

She thought about it for a moment before answering. "Yes, I would."

"Great. Let's go." Michael ordered her.

"Where's a decent place to eat around here," Sam asked and added. "Hey, anybody got an extra jacket? It was freezing out there the last time I checked!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sam felt a lot better after getting a good meal and rehydrating. Their lunch with representatives from the CIA, CPD, RCMP, and CSIS had fewer letters than a bowl of alphabet soup, but it was just as satisfying. Everyone now had a role to play in the search for the real Chuck Finley. Thanks to a phone call to Pearce, Michael received copies of the information she dug up since Sam disappeared. A courier brought the package to their location from the local CIA office and they looked at the files, going over them together so everyone knew who their real target was.

"He really bears quite a resemblance to you, Mr. Axe," Fraser remarked.

"Which is kind of scary, since I use Chuck as an alias a lot."

"Too bad. You'll just have to come up with something else, Sam," Fiona said and sipped on her straw.

"No way, Fi. I told you once, I'll say it again: Chuck Finley is forever."

She rolled her eyes and let out a sound of aggravation. "You're a glutton for punishment. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Sam heard a soft chuckle and turned to find Agent Chatham with a smile on her face. His cool expression caused her to sober. "You three have quite an interesting relationship, don't you?"

"Yes, we do." He was in better spirits and the anger had worn off, but he still wasn't quite ready to make nice with her.

"My government appreciates that you're allowing us to continue in this investigation, Sam. You, uh, don't mind if I call you Sam, do you?"

He took a drink of water. "Just don't ever call me Chuck again, and we'll be fine." That broke the ice between them a little, and opened up the door for him to ask, "Would you like to go to dinner tonight? Only, please leave the knock out drugs at home?"

She laughed, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

"Sam, we have to get back and find Finley."

"Yeah, Mike, I know. Doesn't mean that Agent Chatham can't come along and see how we do things in Miami."

"Well, I would have to get permission from my superiors." She paused. "Let me know when your flight leaves, and I'll see what I can work out."

Director Julliard insisted that Agent Chatham go to Miami with the Westens and Sam Axe, and Ray Kowalski, who was still on loan from the Chicago PD, accompanied them with Constable Fraser. The Mountie was forced to leave Diefenbaker behind with Constable Turnbull. Fraser felt uneasy about that, but he really had no choice when duty called.

* * *

It was late when the private jet touched down in Miami. After sharing a meal, they split up and made a date to meet at Carlito's the next morning for breakfast and a strategy session. Sam caught a cab, intending to go back to Ocean Drive where he'd left his car. Hopefully it would still be there and not in the impound lot.

Agent Chatham asked, "Do you mind if I share a cab with you, Mr. Axe?"

_Just as long as you stay on your side of the seat!_ He restrained himself from saying what he thought, and instead replied, "No, I don't mind."

"Thank you. I was planning on booking a room at the Beacon again. Despite the short time I spent there, I thought it was nice. Not too expensive, either." She waited while he opened the cab door and let her in first.

Sam got in, leaned forward and said, "The Beacon, please."

"Yes, sir!"

"You know that's where Ray and Fraser were going. You could have ridden with them."

"I know. I just wanted to have an opportunity to talk to you about what happened."

"Yeah, care to explain what happened between the bar and when I woke up in that hotel room? I remember you came and sat by me, we had a couple drinks, but after that, a lot of it is fuzzy."

She nodded. "We talked for awhile. I was hoping to draw you out, get you to give something away that proved you were Chuck Finley. But nothing you said matched with our meager intelligence on the man. So I slipped out a vial of the knock out drug from my purse, made the purse slip off the back of my chair, and you, being a gentleman," she grinned, "picked it up for me. By then I had your drink spiked."

"Yeah, teach me for being a nice guy," Sam joked, but there was a grain of truth in it. From now on, he would have to be more wary with women.

She sighed and dropped her shoulders against the seat back. "When you passed out, I got Agent Burns to help me take you up to the room. After that, I was on my own."

"So we didn't..."

"No, we didn't." She shook her head, a frown on her face. "Don't think I wasn't tempted, though. I had to remove..." She interrupted herself with a clearing of her throat. "Oh look, here's my hotel!"

"Yeah. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Chatham."

"Yes, Mr. Axe." By his using only her last name, he'd said more than enough.

"Good night," he said.

"Good night," she said and got out of the cab. The driver retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and she stood on the curb watching Sam staring at her from behind the glass as the car pulled away.

The woman had a lot of nerve, asking to share a cab and then trying to whitewash the whole incident in the hotel. He couldn't figure out why she went overboard and took off all his clothes in that room. All she needed was his money clip, but she went ahead and made it look like things were more than they seemed. Nothing like twisting the knife and emphasizing his stupidity. Women were his Achilles heel, and somehow, he was going to have to work on that. She made that abundantly clear.

Sam asked the cabbie to stop in front of Carlito's. He paid him and got out, and walked over to where he'd left his car. To his surprise, it was still there. He got in, checked it thoroughly for any bugs, trackers, or explosive devices. The only thing he found was a parking ticket tacked to the windshield wiper, which he pocketed and made a mental note to send to the CSIS for payment. Then, extremely tired after all he'd been through in the past thirty six hours or so, he went home. He dropped onto the bed fully clothed and slept fitfully, waking often to get a glass of water or use the bathroom.

"Yeah," he murmured as he dragged the phone out of his pocket when it rang the next morning.

"Sam, how are you today?"

"Maddie? What's...what's up?" He expected that maybe Mike would call, considering that he was already late for their breakfast meeting.

"Oh, Michael told me what happened to you. I was so worried, I had to check and see if you were okay."

"Aw, thanks, Maddie. I'm good, just kind of wiped out. But I've gotta get up. I'm late for a meeting."

"Michael asked me to tell you that they pushed it back to ten. He's going to the CIA office to do some more intelligence gathering on the real Chuck Finley." She sounded amused when she spoke the name.

"Okay, Maddie. Thanks. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping in a little."

"Well, you take care! Don't make me come over there and mother you." She teased.

Sam again thanked Maddie for her concern, said goodbye, and disconnected the call. He lay on his back on the bed, closed his eyes, and decided to take another half hour or so nap. He had time. But he couldn't sleep, because all he could think about now was Chuck Finley. The odds of having someone with his alias walking around for real in Miami was strange, to say the least. Hopefully Mike would find out more about the man, what he'd been doing, what bars and restaurants he'd been frequenting. If they knew those things, they could begin to work on a plan to trap him. If he had any say, it wouldn't involve knock out drugs.

* * *

Grace discovered that she was the first to arrive at Carlito's. She had to go back outside and check the sign to make sure she was in the right place. Then she entered again and realized that she wasn't alone. Sam Axe was there, sitting at the bar, drinking a beer.

"I would have thought you'd be drinking water for awhile, Mr. Axe. Replacing all those fluids we deprived you of." She said it with a slight smile, hoping that self-deprecating humor would break the hard look on his face.

He turned far enough to see her and returned to his beer, took a large swig, and replied. "I made up for it last night. Slept like crap, getting up all the time. Hope you're happy about that."

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry for the way we treated you." She stared down at her hands, which she laid on the bar. "I should have listened to you and earnestly checked out everything you said."

The bartender approached carefully. "Would you like something, Miss?"

"Yeah, a soda. Thanks."

"Afraid alcohol's going to mess up your already thin judgement?"

"I thought you were a nice guy. I guess I got that wrong too!" She grasped her glass and drained half of it.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He shook his head slowly. "Everybody makes mistakes. Even me...every once in awhile."

Grace tried to hold it back, but she couldn't do it. Laughter snuck through her pursed lips, and when she glanced at him, she was glad to see his shoulders shaking gently. Then he looked at her and he wore a smile. It was a very nice smile, one she found herself mirroring.

"Agent Chatham, Mr. Axe."

They turned to see Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski standing behind them. "Morning," Sam greeted them. "I suppose we better get some tables together for our crew." With the four of them working together, they dragged two square tables and joined them on one end, then placed six chairs around them. Shortly after the two men ordered something to drink, Michael and Fiona arrived. Michael looked as bad as Sam, dragged out from a lack of sleep.

"Well, at least somebody around here is looking well-rested," Sam cracked. "You must have been doing a lot of work last night, Mikey."

"Yes, and we have a lot to share."

Fiona leaned down, pulled out stacks of papers from a large bag she brought along, and passed out copies to everyone. "This is the information that Michael and I were able to find on Charles Finley, the real Charles Finley." She glanced at Sam and gave him a smile. "He's been in Miami for the past three weeks, frequenting the bars, strip clubs, etcetera, not unlike our own dear friend, Sam."

"Anyway, it looks like he's just kicking back," Michael said. "It should be fairly simple to find him, but it'll require a lot of staking out and hope we catch him at one of his haunts on the right night."

"You don't think he's planning something?" Grace asked.

"Maybe if we can tail him, we may discover what he's really up to." Michael flipped the pages back into place and set his copy on the table. "I want us to work in teams of two. Fi and I worked a schedule out for who will take which clubs and restaurants. We'll give these a shot at night, and our friend Jesse will check out some of these daytime locations. If he sees something, he'll call us. I want everyone's cell numbers so we can quickly contact you if something comes up."

"Fraser doesn't have a phone," Ray said.

"So we'll use smoke signals," Sam joked. Fiona kicked him under the table and he glared at her.

"I'll team up with Fraser," Michael said. "Ray, you work with Fiona, and Sam, you and Agent Chatham will work together."

_Seriously, Mike? _Sam stared at his friend, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke.

_Seriously, Sam. You need to bury the hatchet with this woman._ Michael knew his friend understood what he was trying to do.

Sam knew he was right. For the sake of the team, they needed to work together. It wouldn't be the first time he had to work with someone who irritated him. Fiona was a good example of that, and their relationship had improved greatly over time. But he didn't have the luxury of years. He needed to get over himself and what happened, and treat her like a professional.

After breakfast and their meeting was adjourned, Ray said, "I don't know about anybody else, but I'm going to get some sun!"

Fi smiled. "I'd have to go back to the loft and get my suit on, but we'd be happy to accompany you. Won't we, Michael?"

"Oh yeah, sure." He would rather have taken a nap in preparation for the evening's stake out, but in an effort to strengthen the team, he knew this outing was important. "You coming too, Fraser? Sam? Agent Chatham?"

"Please, call me Grace."

"Okay, Grace." Michael smiled. "Wanna hit the beach?"

"Sure, why not? Except I didn't really come prepared..."

"No worries! I guess we girls will have to go shopping first and get you a suit. Michael, we'll see you all at the beach in an hour, or two." She grinned as she stood. "Come on, Grace, I know exactly where to go!" The two women took off like a couple of girl friends, and the men watched them leave.

i"Like Fi needs an excuse to buy a new suit," Sam scoffed, then finished off his beer. "You know, I love team unity and all that, but I really need to get some sleep." He saw Michael's gentle pleading in his expression and shook his head. "Okay, fine, I'll see you guys in a bit. Gotta go home and change."

"Fraser," Ray asked.

"I came prepared, Ray. I already have my trunks on under my clothes."

Ray glanced at Fraser's outfit. When they left the hotel that morning, he was surprised to see the Mountie wearing cargo shorts and a plain shirt cut like Sam's hawaiians. He didn't even know Fraser owned anything like that. Ray wore something similar. "Yeah, so did I. Michael?"

"I'll have to swing by the loft, but if you guys stake out some real estate on the beach, we'll find you. Or you can come along and grab a couple towels at our place. I know Fi has a bunch of 'em in the closet."

"Sounds good. Hey, then we can get a taste of how a Miami CIA operative lives." Ray grinned.

Michael laughed. "It's not pretty, I have to warn you about that. It's an old warehouse, there's a nightclub underneath, and it's functional, although Fi has done a lot to the place to try to make it more home-like."

Michael drove them to the loft in his Charger. All the way, Ray sat in the passenger seat and caressed the white interior. "This is a great car, Mike. You should see my GTO back home. I put a lot of love into it and it's like mint condition."

"This one needs a lot of work, but it seems like every time I do something to it, it becomes a casualty to a job."

"Maybe if we're around long enough I can help you out with it."

Michael glanced at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I love restoring old cars."

"Thanks. If it works out, I appreciate it."

He parked in the courtyard and escorted them up the stairs, unlocked the metal fire door, and let them inside. Ray and Fraser took in everything, and Ray commented. "Pretty funky, Mike. I like it."

"It sort of reminds me of that apartment I lived in before we met, Ray. Although it was a lot smaller and much more run down." He added. "The woman's touch definitely makes it more inviting."

"Hey, want a yogurt while we're here?"

"No thanks. I'm just ready to sample some real Miami, starting with the beach," Ray exclaimed. He and Fraser wandered around and inspected the large open space with high ceilings and a small loft built of metal grating and poles.

Michael didn't waste any time changing, and he soon reappeared. "Alright, let's go." He tossed them a couple of beach towels as he turned toward the door.

* * *

The last thing Sam wanted to do was bake on the beach and dehydrate himself again. He would have preferred to sit by the pool at his apartment, check out the women who lived there, and maybe make a connection. Instead, he was forced to look at Agent Grace Chatham. She and Fiona arrived at the beach wearing new bathing suits that left little to the imagination, underneath filmy, billowing tunics. She even wore wedge high heel sandals like Fiona, big sunglasses, and a sun hat. They could have almost been twins, except Chatham was a lot whiter.

"Hello, boys," Fiona greeted with a wide smile.

"Hey, Fi. Nice outfit," Ray complimented her.

Her smile brightened. "Thank you! I think Grace did a pretty good job picking out something too." She held out an arm and presented the other woman.

Grace removed the covering and draped it over her beach bag on the sand as Ray and Michael whistled, causing her to grimace at the attention. Then she flipped her beach towel outward. It touched the edge of Sam's, and she quickly pulled it so they had at least three feet distance between them. She would have preferred to lay somewhere else, but Michael and Fiona were together, Fraser was to Sam's right, and Ray was on the opposite end next to Michael, already chatting up a woman who dropped her things near him. With a soft sigh, she flipped off her sandals and sat on the towel. She felt Sam's eyes wandering over her, but she was too afraid to look at him, not sure what she would see in his eyes.

It was safer just to lay on her back and hide behind the sunglasses.

"You know, you should put some of this on, or you're going to burn."

She opened her eyes and looked up to see Sam leaning over the space between them, his fingers clamped onto the end of a tube of sunscreen.

"What if I want a little tan?"

"Trust me, you'll still get a tan with this, just avoid the burn." She swore she saw a plea for a truce in his eyes when he asked, "Want me to put some on your back?"

"When I'm ready, perhaps. Right now, I want to sun the front."

"Okay, suit yourself." He dropped the tube next to her elbow, retreated and opened a paperback as he reclined in the beach chair.

_That was awkward._ Sam tried to concentrate on his book, but she lay in his peripheral vision, a mighty fine specimen of a female, taunting him. _Woah, boy. Thinking like that'll get you into trouble again._ A vision of that water bottle sitting on the table out of reach was enough to douse the budding desire deep in his gut. _She was only doing what her government wanted her to do. No different than Mike and me back in the day. It just hurts that she had the torture part down pretty good. Not the worst I've had, but bad enough._ He glanced at her and noticed how her pasty white skin contrasted sharply with the red and white striped bikini on a matching red towel. She still hadn't put any lotion on, and despite the lingering feelings of animosity, he really didn't want her to pay for it later.

"Grace, you really should put that stuff on," he admonished her.

Her head came up off the towel as she looked at him. A subtle smile crossed her lips. "I'm surprised you care."

"Well, I have to work with you, and I don't wanna have to go on a stake out tonight and have to listen to you whine about how much your sunburn hurts."

"Oh, I see." That deflated any fantasies she may have harbored. Without another word she sat, picked up the tube of sunscreen and applied the lotion lightly.

He wanted to tell her that wasn't enough, but the look she gave him made him put up his hands and go back to his book.

"Sam," Fraser said, getting his attention.

"Yeah, Fraser? Or should we call you Benton?" He wrinkled his nose and grinned. "How about Benny?"

"I have another friend who calls me Benny, but if you'd like to, that's fine."

"Yeah, I like that better than Fraser. That's too much like being in the military, and I'm done with those days." He reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle. "Want a beer?"

"No thanks, I, uh, I don't drink...much. Hardly ever, actually."

"Oh, okay. Anybody else?" He held up the bottle.

"I'll take one, thanks!"

Sam tossed one to Ray and passed one to Mike and Fi each. "Grace?"

"Oh, sure." She took the bottle, then accepted Sam's keys to use his bottle opener. "Thanks." She downed a good third of it.

_Wow. Didn't expect that!_ He turned his attention back to Fraser and handed him a bottle of water. "So, Fr...Benny, was there something you wanted to ask?"

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said and opened it. "I was going to ask you about your alias, Chuck Finley. How have you used it in the past?"

"Whenever a job needs someone who's either a partier or a serious, lawyer type guy, Chuck Finley comes in. I played a dirty cop once using that name. Why?"

"I was just musing, that's all. Wondering if the real Chuck Finley has access to the kind of intelligence we have, and if he used you to keep the heat, as it were, off him."

"You think he knows about me and our resemblance, and he's using it to his advantage?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I think."

"Hmmm." Sam took a swig of his beer. "I hadn't really thought about that. But what would that gain him, really?"

"It bought him at least a couple of days," Michael interrupted. They turned to see him propped up on one elbow. "If it hadn't been for the resemblance, the CSIS would have had Chuck Finley instead of you in their interrogation room."

"Good point, Mike."

"Do you think he might be watching us right now," Ray asked as he scanned the beach, rolled over casually onto his stomach and surveyed the area.

"It's possible."

"So what do we do," Fiona asked as she reached into her beach bag, making sure her firearm was easily accessible. She never left home without it.

"I say we just continue what we're doing, but keep an eye out for anything suspicious," Michael answered as he turned to his stomach and lay on the towel. "Fi, will you get my back?"

"Always, Michael." She grinned, kissed his cheek, and applied the lotion.

"You know, this is kind of nice. We haven't had a chance to just hang out for a long time," Sam said as he leaned back in his chair.

They fell into silence, chatting among themselves now and then. Eventually, the sun felt as if it was baking his skin, so Sam got up and walked into the surf. He went in to where the waves hit chest high, enjoying the coolness of the water rejuvenating his skin.

"This feels good!"

He didn't expect to find her following him. He turned.

"I've never been to the ocean before." A wave hit her in the face and she yelped, coming up completely soaked and laughing. "Didn't expect that. At least I didn't lose my sunglasses. Hey, have you ever surfed?"

"Nope. Haven't really wanted to try, either."

"I have." She grinned as she lifted up her feet and floated with the waves instead of standing against them. "I always thought that would be cool, but then with my luck I'd probably drown when I fell off and the board hit me in the head." She laughed at herself, then looked at him. He just stood there with his face tilted up to the sky, turning his back to the waves, letting them crash against his body. Now and then he took a step, because as she noticed, when the surf pulled back out, some of the sand beneath her feet shifted.

"Do you have something nice to wear tonight?"

"Huh?" She stood a few feet closer to shore, looked up at him, and squinted against the sunlight. He had a nice silhouette.

"Something you can wear to a club? Not those business suits and clothes you wore up north."

"Well, I did bring one dress that I wear in the summertime. It's a sun dress."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "That's not going to work. You need to really dress up, look hot. And if Chuck Finley is keeping tabs on us, we'll have to alter your appearance enough so that he doesn't realize you're watching him." He took a couple of steps, grabbed her hand, and said, "Come on, you've got some shopping to do."

"But Fiona and I already went!"

"For a swimsuit, yeah. But you need club clothes, sister. You can't wear a bikini," he said as he looked down at her and gave her a little leer. "Although, some guys would probably like it, it's not appropriate for the night life."

He led her up to their group and stood dripping, cutting off the sun. Fiona looked up at him. "Sam, you're blocking the light."

"You two need to go shopping and get her some clothes for tonight. You didn't think about that when you were out before, did you?"

"No, we didn't. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed she was set." Fiona got to her knees and began to pack up her things.

"Anybody else not equipped for working the clubs tonight?"

"I'm good, but Fraser. I think he needs help." Ray glanced over at his friend and noted the look of denial on his face. "Yeah, Fraser, you need an extreme wardrobe makeover, my friend!"

"Okay, then, I'll take Benny, and Fi, you take Grace shopping?"

"Sounds good. Ray and I will stay here and just hang out. But don't forget I need Fraser back by seven."

"You got it, Mike."

"How about we all meet at the Beacon at seven," Ray suggested.

They agreed, and Sam and Fraser packed up their things, changed in the public beach house, and headed to Sam's car to store their wet things. "Benny, there's a shopping mall not too far from here that has a couple of nice menswear stores, we can check those out." He slammed the trunk. "Did they give you an expense account for this, or is this out of pocket?"

"Ray and I have an expense account, and it's quite generous."

Sam grinned. "Great! Get ready to have some fun!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sam Axe surprised Fraser. For a man who seemed to enjoy wearing casual clothes every day, he knew how to dress up when necessary. He picked out some nice suits and shirt combinations, and while Fraser tried them on to make sure they fit properly, Sam found some elegant ties to go with them. The clubs that Fraser and Michael would be visiting were more high end, so he had to appear as if he was made of money. Of course, these things didn't come cheap; Fraser did his best to keep the bill to a minimum, yet not compromise on his cover for the stake out. He knew he was ready when Sam said, "Benny, you look like you belong here."

Fraser came out of the bathroom in the hotel room wearing a black suit with a deep aqua shirt and a tasteful tie with a peacock feather design on it. He wore shiny leather shoes to match, cufflinks, and a couple of rings and a gold watch that he borrowed from Sam to complete the outfit.

"The watch was a gift from an old girlfriend. It's a Rolex. Be careful with it," Sam urged him.

"I assure you, nothing will happen to it."

"Wow, Fraser, you look smokin', man!" Ray gave him a once over. "If Frannie saw you right now, wow, we'd need a blowtorch to get her off you!"

Fraser looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. Sam watched. "You look fine, Benny. That color suits you, although, I gotta say that red is pretty dramatic," he said, referring to the red dress tunic that Fraser usually wore. "Hey, what time is it?"

"It's six-fifty," Fraser answered as he checked out the Rolex on his wrist.

"Okay, let's split up in the lounge and meet Mike, Fi, and Grace there."

Ray adjusted his open collar. "Good idea. If Finley happens to be in this hotel, he won't see us all together."

"Agreed."

There was a knock on the door, and Ray went to answer it. Michael and Fiona entered the room dressed for their roles. Fiona wore a classy yet sexy dark blue dress that complimented Ray's gray suit and light blue shirt. Michael wore a suit very similar to Fraser's, but his shirt was white with a red tie.

"Have you seen Agent Chatham," Fraser asked.

"No, not yet," Fiona answered. "It's still early."

"Maybe our teams should get going, and Sam can just wait in the lobby for her, which is what we originally agreed upon," Michael said.

Michael and Fraser left first and took an elevator down. Ray locked up the room, let Fiona take his arm, and the two grabbed another elevator going down. Sam waited a couple of minutes to make sure they were out of the building before going to the lobby. He wore a light tan suit with a coral shirt, and as he stood there, he realized that he had no idea what Agent Chatham would be wearing. Everyone else coordinated with their partners, for the most part. It would be his luck that she came down wearing black or some dark color that clashed.

He heard the light tapping of heels crossing the marble floor, and he turned. From her auburn updo created with a wig down to her peach strappy sandals, she looked like she could give Cinderella a run for her money. Her dress clung to her and swayed as she moved, showing off her assets nicely. Fiona must have given her some makeup tips, because she didn't look anything like he'd seen when she held him captive. She'd succeeded in taking his breath away, despite his resolve to not let himself be affected by however she looked when she arrived.

* * *

Grace knew when Sam stared at her that he was captivated by her appearance. A broad smile crossed her face and she approached him. She'd hoped to get a positive reaction, and she wasn't disappointed. When he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, she felt a rush, like she was a princess and he was her prince. But that was a fairy tale, and they were only dressed like this because they had a job to do. Sam didn't realize that if she weren't on the clock all the time, she would opt for the comfortable clothes he liked. Spending time in Florida would allow her that luxury. Spending time with him, even if it was just a job, would be the highlight of this assignment.

"You look great," he complimented her softly as he helped her into the cab.

"Thank you, Sam." She replied just as softly. "You do too. Love the hair."

Not another word passed between them as they traveled to the restaurant that Finley frequented the most during his time in Miami. It was risky for Sam to be in the same place, so he took the extra step of darkening his hair, changing the cut and style, and wearing glasses. He changed his appearance enough that he had to take a second glance at himself in the mirror before he left his apartment.

"Sam, he's here, and he's not alone. There's a woman with him."

He was helping her with her chair, so he didn't see. He bent closer and whispered near her ear. "Where are they?"

"Over to our left, three tables away. He's wearing a gray double-breasted suit."

Sam's cheek brushed hers as he quickly glanced that way, then to cover up his move, he kissed her cheek. It flamed red as he pulled away, and he casually went around the table to sit on the opposite end. It was a small table for two with candlelight casting a warm glow around them. As they watched Finley and the woman while pretending to study their menus, the restaurants lights dimmed for atmosphere. It made it harder to see their prey, but it also made it more difficult for him to pick them out of the crowd.

Grace asked as she reached for her water glass. "Do you have any idea who the woman is?"

Sam shook his head. "Not a clue. I wish there was more light. I could get a photograph and the CIA could try to run it through their database."

"What else can we do?"

"We tail him for awhile. Or we could just grab him like some other organization did..." He smirked at her narrow eyed expression. "Seriously we need to watch him, see what he's up to. If he's planning something, catching him in the act of that rather than just nabbing him for the kidnapping will assure we get him on something stickier. You know what I mean?"

"I understand. You want to be sure you have the right man." She looked into his eyes and hers crinkled with a smile. "Have I told you lately that I still regret how we handled that whole situation?"

"We?"

"Well, I was in charge while my boss was gone, but there were others involved besides me. We all suffered from poor judgement. I'm sorry."

"You can make it up to me by picking up the tab tonight." He winked.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Sam ordered a bottle of wine to go with dinner, and he spared no expense. At first she was peeved, but the CSIS had it coming. She had it coming. So she threw caution to the wind and ordered what she wanted, versus what was economical, and they enjoyed the dinner and the time with each other. But they were always on their game, watching Finley and the mystery woman. They left shortly before Grace and Sam were half way through their final course.

Waving the waiter over, Sam said, "We'd like the check, please."

"Certainly, sir."

"My...my wife isn't feeling well, we need it quickly."

The waiter looked at her and she played along, covering her mouth with her hand. His eyes widened as he feared what her not feeling well entailed. "I'll get it right away, sir!"

Sam got on his phone and called Michael. "Mike, Finley was at the Seashell having dinner with a female companion. Neither Grace nor I could id her. They bugged out, don't know which way they were headed, but once we get out of here, we're going to the Porpoise Club."

"Alright, Sam. Good luck."

"Thanks, Mike. You too."

They left the restaurant and walked up the street to the club. They passed Fraser and Michael and nodded briefly to them. With a hand signal from Mike, Sam knew they were going to a club south of the restaurant, betting that Finley walked rather than taking a cab to his next destination.

The Porpoise Club was loud, jammed, and dimly lit by the glow from purple and aqua neon lighting. Sam had to take Grace's hand or risk losing her in the mash of bodies. Her hand was strong but soft, and warm. He looked back to see how she was keeping up, and she trotted behind with a grin, looking as if she were completely enjoying herself. They stayed long enough to nurse one drink and get a good look at the patrons. Finley and his woman weren't there.

* * *

Fiona and Ray ate dinner at their site, an expensive Italian restaurant, without seeing Finley. They left and went to their next destination, a salsa dance club. The music hit them full force even before they entered the club, and when they got inside the heavy beat caused them to weave through the crowd. They found a small table on a loft that gave them a bird's eye view of the establishment, ordered a couple of drinks, and settled in for awhile.

"Hey, you wanna dance?" Ray asked.

"You dance?" Fiona looked surprised. She didn't expect such a laid-back, rough looking man to appreciate the art of dancing.

"Oh yeah. I miss it. My ex-wife Stella and I used to go out a lot." He shrugged. "Other than dancing and sex, we didn't really have a whole lot in common." He laughed self-consciously.

"Such a shame. You're such a nice guy, Ray." Fiona smiled wide. "I'll dance with you. Think you can keep up with the salsa?"

"Oh yeah, just try me."

They got out on the floor and lit it up. Fiona felt the electricity, and if she weren't completely devoted to Michael, not to mention married, a state she still had to get used to, she could have let herself get carried away by this man. He had the moves, and he was smooth and precise, matching her as if they'd danced together forever. He left her catching her breath when they finally got off the floor and found their table occupied.

"We...we should probably get out of here," Fiona said. "I didn't see Finley. Did you?"

"Nah, and I was trying to keep an eye out while we were dancing."

"Me too."

"Come on, let's try the next club on the list."

By the time they'd visited all three clubs, Fiona's feet ached and her toes pinched in the highest of high heeled shoes that she wore. After leaving the last club around one in the morning, she removed the shoes and carried them by the straps as she and Ray headed back to the Beacon. He walked close, but not too close. Just enough to keep up appearances, to make it seem as if they were a couple. Her perfume wafted on the wind, and it reminded him of Stella. What he wouldn't give to be there right now with her, instead of another man's wife, trying to pretend they were a couple! The spy life was not for him, that much he'd figured out after only a few hours. He tried to avoid drinking too much, and Fiona was able to give him a few pointers on that, but his head still felt fuzzy and he knew he would have a hangover the next day.

"Ray," Fiona whispered harshly, grabbed his sleeve to turn him toward her, and threw her arms around his shoulders. She pulled his mouth down to hers and said, "I just saw Finley...with a woman."

"Where?"

She laughed as if he'd said something funny, grabbed his elbow, and swung him around to see the couple moving away. "Does she look familiar at all?"

Ray waited another minute before letting her go. "Nope. Never saw her before."

She peered around Ray's shoulder and saw them enter the Hilton. "I wonder if that's where they're staying."

"I don't know. Do you wanna check it out?"

"We have to be careful, Ray. He probably knows us, at least me and Michael, and Sam, of course."

"Well, then Fraser, Grace and I, we'll get them." He held her upper arms and stared into her eyes. "I promise, we'll stop Finley."

"Good luck, Ray."

He turned and hailed a cab. As he opened the door for Fiona, he said, "Go home, Fi. We'll meet with you guys tomorrow and plan our next strategy. I'm going to stake this place out tonight and find out if this is where they're staying."

"Okay." She placed a hand on his cheek. "Please, don't try to go after them yourself. This woman could be dangerous."

"I won't. Don't worry!" He gave her a smile and closed the door, and he watched the cab as it disappeared down the street. Inside the hotel he found a discreet corner of the lobby behind a column, pulled out his phone and texted Michael, Grace, and Sam, so they all knew what he was doing. Then he bided his time, hoping the woman would leave eventually, if she was just some chick that Finley picked up. He had a long wait.

"Ray. Ray!"

Ray opened his eyes with a start. "Fraser! What are you doing here?"

"Michael got your text. He talked with Fiona, and he decided it was wisest for me to come to the hotel and watch with you. In the morning, Fiona and Agent Chatham will appropriate maid carts and uniforms, and start going floor to floor and room by room, hoping they'll find Finley."

"Fraser, that's crazy! This is a big hotel, and you know they have more than two maids."

"I know." Fraser nodded and smiled. "They'll have help." His smile widened. "Inspector Thatcher has been recruited to assist. She's on her way to Miami as we speak, and with her assistance, that gives us a sixty percent chance of finding his room."

"The Dragon Lady is coming here. Great. Boy, I'd love to see her at one of those dance clubs Fi and I went to tonight." He mimicked a dancing robot sitting in his seat.

"Now, Ray..."

Ray sat back in the chair and yawned. "I think we better go back to our own hotel, Frase. It's after bar closing, so I doubt they'll be up and about anywhere."

"Indeed. Have you seen Agent Chatham?"

"Nope. She's probably back at the hotel by now, getting her beauty rest."

"I hope so. She's going to need it tomorrow."

* * *

Grace couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a great evening. Dinner was excellent, and while she wasn't one for clubbing, hanging onto Sam and pretending that they were together was fun. They capped off the evening with a late latte at a coffee shop near the Beacon, watching the few patrons, whispering between themselves and debriefing over the evening's events.

"I think this is the most fun I've had on a job in years," Grace admitted to him. A cool breeze came in through a window, and she was thankful for the warmth of her drink.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's been awhile since I've had this good a time on a stake out. I usually wind up going with Mike, and he's not as good a dancer as you."

Grace laughed out loud and two heads turned her way, but she ignored them. "I sure hope you're kidding about that, Sam."

"Well, not about his dancing, but then I wouldn't really know. I like my partners to be ladies." He smiled.

The way he looked at her, if she didn't know it was all for show, she would have turned into a puddle at that moment. Instead, she accidentally bumped her mug and spilled her cooling latte all over the front of her dress, dousing the rising feelings she had no business entertaining. "Oh no!"

Sam grabbed a pile of napkins from the dispenser at their table and asked, "Hey, are you okay?" He held them out, and she noted the conflicted expression on his face.

Grace smiled and replied, "Thanks, Sam. I'm fine." She took the napkins, knowing that if she'd let him, he would have mopped up the mess himself. His eyes locked onto hers, and hers locked onto his as she dabbed at her bare skin over the bodice. "This is dry clean only. I hope this doesn't ruin it. I'd like to wear this dress again some day."

"I'd really like you to wear that dress again some day too," he said the words before he knew what he was saying. Then he blinked and the fire went out of his eyes.

She saw it happen, and Grace was not just disappointed. She was devastated, because as much as she tried, she couldn't help herself. She was falling in love with him. It was the one cardinal rule of working with male agents, to not fall in love with your partner, and she blew it. But maybe it was a good thing that he seemed to have more restraint than she. That look in his eyes was just typical male desire, and she made herself easy pickings. _What a fool I am!_

Grace stood and picked up her purse. "I, uh, better get back to the hotel. If I'm going to play chambermaid tomorrow, I need my sleep." She gave him a smile.

He stood and placed a hand on her elbow. "I'll walk you back to the hotel."

"It's not that far."

"I don't care. It's not safe for a woman to be alone this late at night."

She patted his lapel. "That's very...chivalrous...of you, Sam. But I know how to defend myself."

"Grace, don't be so stubborn, okay?" The vehemence in his voice surprised her.

She swallowed her pride. "Thank you."

Sam released her elbow and let her walk past. He followed her out of the coffee shop, held the door as she passed through, and captured her hand as they walked to the hotel. Grace looked up at him, hoping it was a romantic gesture. But she could see in his eyes that he was only being nice. As they walked along the street, neither of them could find anything to say. He must have felt awkward, because Sam dropped her hand and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The ocean breeze was a little cool and she wished she'd brought a sweater.

"I thought it was always warm in Miami," she said as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"You're cold? Coming from the great white north, I would think this was balmy for you!" He laughed. Then he looked down and saw how she held herself. "Here, put this on." He took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"You don't have to do that..."

"No, I do. You're cold."

"We're almost there! I'll be fine!"

"I'll be fine. Just accept it, okay?"

As they argued, they didn't notice the young man on a bike riding toward them until he swooped past, leaned over and grabbed at Grace's purse.

"Hey!" With lightning quick speed, she whirled and grabbed the strap, pulled, and wrenched the startled skinny guy right off his bike. He crashed to the pavement, the air knocked out of him.

Sam pulled his gun and held it on him. "Okay kid, turn over, now!"

"Do you need some cuffs?"

Sam glanced up at her. "You have cuffs in your purse?"

"Always prepared," she replied with a sheepish grin as she pulled them out and handed them to him.

A squad car with flashing lights pulled up behind her, and Sam quickly stowed his weapon. The kid was cuffed and ready to be thrown into the back of the cruiser.

"What happened here, folks?"

"He tried to steal my purse, but I wouldn't let him. My...my friend has him all wrapped up for you."

It took a little time to make the report and for Grace to get the cuffs back, and by then it was quite late. After the police left, Sam said, "See now why I didn't want you walking alone? Come on." He placed his coat back on her shoulders, put his arm around her, and led her across the street. They were half a block from the hotel.

Grace could have handled herself, but she was grateful to Sam. Otherwise, the perpetrator might have gotten away. She was temporarily in shock and didn't move fast enough to restrain him like Sam did. His kindness afterward stunned her even more, holding her to his side until she stopped in front of her room. It went above and beyond, causing her to question his motives. She looked up at him as she removed his jacket and gave it to him. He shrugged into it while his eyes never left hers.

"Thanks, Sam, for being there." She spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're welcome." He replied hoarsely.

The electric lock beeped as her keycard released it. It slipped open, she pulled the card out, and dropped it into her purse. All that time, he never stopped watching her. "Sam...what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know." He suddenly framed her face with his hands and bent his head to kiss her lips.

Grace let out a soft startled noise, but her arms went around his back and pulled him closer to her as she accepted his embrace and welcomed his lips with her own. The kiss deepened, and she felt powerless to stop it. She didn't want to make it stop. Her whole body wanted this man, and as long as he seemed to want her, she was willing to take things as far as they would go.

With a groan, Sam ripped himself away. Her lips felt as if he'd physically torn them. His breath came in short gasps as he pulled out of her arms, and his eyes, which had been full of desire just moments earlier, were full of regret.

"I'm sorry, Gracie. I shouldn't have..." He shook his head and took a step back. "Good night. I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?" Before she could answer him, he turned and strode quickly toward the elevators.

Gracie. He called her Gracie. Nobody called her that, unless they wanted to get decked. She touched her lips, and they were fine. But her heart, that was a different matter entirely. The elevator chimed, the doors opened, and she could barely make out Sam thrusting himself inside. He was close enough for her to run to him, but she couldn't see through the tears. She wanted to call out his name, but her throat closed up and she remained silent. Then he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_What a stupid idiot I am! What was I thinking? He was playing me for a fool, and he was successful! It was payback for what I did to him in that room! _Grace silently berated herself as she undressed, carefully did what she could to clean her dress, and changed into her nightgown. When she closed her eyes she saw him, so she couldn't sleep. Beating her fist into the pillow beside her, pretending it was Sam, didn't help. Her hand opened up and caressed the linen, feeling the indentation from her fist and wishing it was a result of his head lying there. With a sigh that bounced off the headboard, she got up. Grace went out on the balcony and peered out at the dark ocean as it rushed to the beach, singing a sad song just for her. The street below was nearly empty. It was no wonder, when she saw the clock on the night stand read 3:35. There would be no sleep for her tonight. _I wonder if he feels guilty, or justified. Did he have a good laugh at my expense? Or did he really have feelings for me, and for some reason he couldn't act on them? I'm wasting my time, when I should be getting some rest! I can't let him do this to me! _She went back to bed, hoping sleep would take her.

* * *

If she'd seen Sam, Grace would have felt some vindication. He drove home, and although he was tired, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt her lips on his. It was good. It had been awhile since he tasted such sweetness. It was completely illogical for him to feel anything but hostility toward her, after what happened nearly two days before. They were from opposite sides of the border. He could probably think of a million other reasons not to let this go any further, but they were all moot when he thought about how good she felt in his arms. It almost hurt to think about it. But he couldn't stop himself.

Sam flopped over onto his stomach and looked at the clock. It was 3:35 in the morning. She was probably fast asleep, dreaming beautiful dreams while he lay awake with a tortured mind. He buried his head in the pillow until he couldn't breathe. Then he raised it again, dropped it so he looked to his left, and closed his eyes, hoping he could get a shred of sleep before the morning came.

* * *

There was no time for a breakfast meeting that morning. Fiona, Grace, and Inspector Meg Thatcher met at the hotel, and thanks to a favor cashed in, the three ladies were given a job for the day cleaning and straightening rooms. Considering how tired she was, Grace figured this would be the hardest she worked in a long time. Hopefully she would be alert enough if she came upon Finley's room. She also secretly hoped that she would find him soon, because she quickly learned that cleaning rooms was not her cup of tea.

"Morning."

She came out of a room and looked toward the source of the voice. Her own caught in her throat when she saw Sam...only it wasn't Sam...walking toward her. There was something about the set of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones that made it obvious he wasn't the same man.

"Morning, Sir." Grace restrained herself from getting excited as he passed. He stopped at a room across the hall, stuck his key card into the door, and entered.

When it closed behind him, she spoke into the commlink that tied her to the rest of the team. "It's Grace. Finley just entered room 559."

Fraser answered. "Perfect. We'll be right there."

Grace stayed in the hallway, pretending to organize things on her cart while waiting to see if the door opened again. The door opened and the woman came out first. In the daylight, it was easier to see her. She was slim, dark blonde with fake highlights, and wore far too much makeup. She wore a short skirt and tank top with comfortable walking shoes. Finley followed her out of the room also wearing casual clothing and locked it behind him. Then they moved toward the elevators.

Fraser came out of the elevator as they approached it, and Meg stopped at Grace's elbow. "Fraser, be careful. We don't know who that woman is."

Ray came out of the stairwell into the elevator lobby just as Finley and the woman approached Fraser. Finley nodded to them, hit the button to go down, and waited for the elevator.

"Fraser, Ray, Agent Chatham and I are ready to back you up," Meg said as she pulled at Grace's elbow.

Grace abandoned her cart and followed her, pulling out a firearm from inside as she passed. Fraser and Meg may not have been allowed to carry while they were in the States, but her agency had no such regulation. She was glad, because she would have hated to see Ray be the only one prepared. They closed in on the couple just as the elevator doors opened.

"Freeze, Finley," Ray said.

"Try to stop me," Finley said as he pulled out a gun with one hand and pushed the woman toward the open doors with the other.

Sam stepped out of the elevator with his own gun raised, and he caught the woman as she stumbled toward him. He held her in a tight grip as he said, "I'd rethink that strategy, Chuck."

Finley turned and gazed at Sam. He looked more like Finley again with the temporary hair dye washed out, although he wore a slight scruff that Grace had learned was normal for him. Finley kept himself shaved smooth. It was strange to look at the two, and Finley himself even hesitated at the sight of his doppelganger.

He grinned and chuckled. "I knew you kind of looked like me, but wow."

"Up against the wall, Finley." Ray was all business. "Drop the gun and both of you, up against the wall."

Finley raised his gun in a surrender gesture and turned toward the wall, but at the last moment, he swung and hit Ray in the jaw with the weapon. Startled, Ray's head snapped back but he didn't go down. Sam pushed the woman toward Meg, who grabbed her and held her against the opposite wall to restrain her. Grace moved in with the handcuffs. Sam grabbed for Finley's gun hand. Another elevator door opened and a couple of women stepped off, right into the middle of the chaos. They screamed, Finley punched Sam, and he loosened his hold just enough for Finley to evade him and run down the hall.

"I got him!" Ray exclaimed and ran after him. The men disappeared, but Ray's voice soon came over the commlink. "Fraser, he's going for the south stairs. I think he's heading for the roof."

"I'm on my way."

Michael spoke. "Fi and I are covering two of the emergency exits downstairs, and the police are surrounding the place. He's got nowhere to go."

Sam recovered from the blow and approached the stairs near the elevators. "I'm taking the central stairs."

Grace left Meg with their prisoner. "I'm going with you, Sam."

"We're definitely going up," Ray huffed into the commlink.

Sam spoke. "Okay, let's follow them. Hear that Mike, he's going for the roof."

"Copy. We'll hold our positions, just in case."

"This is Meg. I'm bringing down Finley's companion."

Michael answered her. "There's a squad car waiting for her."

The hotel was twelve stories tall, and Finley ran to the top from the fifth floor. He was tired out and breathing heavily by the time he came out onto the roof. Fraser beat Ray to the top and stood near the door, analyzing the situation.

"Finley, you've got no place to go. The police have the building surrounded. My team members are coming up. Your best option is to surrender."

"Surrender is never an option. It's a cop-out. Nobody is taking me in."

Ray burst out of the door onto the roof, gasping for air. A couple hundred yards to the north, Sam and Grace came out of another door. "You're surrounded, Finley."

Finley turned and saw Sam and Grace slowly closing in. He held his gun up and threatened them with it. "No closer!"

The couple stopped their forward advance, but they kept their weapons trained on him. "Drop it, Finley," Sam said. "You're just getting yourself in deeper by holding that gun on us."

Fraser took the opportunity that Sam gave him by distracting Finley. He sprinted across the gravel rooftop and leaped at Finley, hoping to take him down and dislodge the gun from his hand. It went off, the shot wild, and the two rolled on the surface. The small stones cut into their skin as they struggled, and they rolled precariously close to the edge.

"Fraser!" Ray holstered his gun and ran for the two, but he was too late.

Both men went over the edge. Grace screamed even as she and Sam ran to the edge. But they were surprised to see two pairs of hands gripping the edge.

"Fraser! Grab my hand," Ray said as he got into a position to help pull him up.

Sam and Grace did the same to Finley. He wouldn't let go, however, and he jostled himself, attempting to throw the two over the side, sending them plummeting to their deaths. Grace slipped, and she sucked in a breath in alarm as her head went over the side. She felt herself falling, but suddenly, two hands grabbed at her clothing. One repositioned with lightning speed and grabbed her shoulder. It slipped around her upper body and pulled her back. She flipped and suddenly found herself solidly on the roof, wrapped in Sam's arms. He sat on the gravel, holding her close, his breath coming in short gasps like the night before, only this time it was from the fright of nearly losing her. She clung to his shirt, unable to believe at first that she wasn't falling.

"Finley..."

"Shh, don't worry about him. He's being taken care of."

Grace looked over her shoulder and saw Finley being hauled up to the roof by two cops. Seeing Fraser safely on his two feet, watching the arrest with Ray, feeling the warmth of Sam's chest seeping into her, she did the only thing she could at that moment. She burrowed deeper into his safe arms and her body shook.

"I-I've never come that close to dying before," she whispered to him.

"I'd like to say you get used to it after awhile, but that'd be a lie," he replied and pulled her to her feet along with himself. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Your arm is bleeding."

"It is?" She looked at her left arm, and the sleeve of her maid's uniform was stained. "When did that happen?"

"Probably when Finley had that wild shot before he went over the side." Sam made sure she was steady on her feet before pulling the fabric back to examine it. "It's just a graze. I can stitch that up for you, and you'll be good as new in no time."

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, Sam."

"No problem. Let's go meet the rest of the team and get out of here." He slipped his arm around her waist and they went down to the floor where they could catch an elevator with Ray and Fraser.

Michael and Fiona were in the lobby with Meg talking with detectives when the four arrived. They had a lot of explaining to do to the police, but Sam and Grace were able to slip away quickly with promises to show up at the station later and tell their side of the story. He took her to his apartment to clean and stitch up that wound. He unlocked the door and guided her by the elbow inside.

"It's nothing like your digs, but..."

"It's kind of cute." She looked around the room. "It won't win any design awards, but it's not bad."

"It's just a place to lay my head. I spend most of my time out working on cases or hanging out somewhere else." He locked the door behind them and escorted her to the bed. "Uh, why don't you just sit on the bed there, and I'll get my kit. I'll be right back."

Grace sat on the bed and Sam retrieved his kit from the space under the bathroom sink. She watched him work as if he'd done this a hundred times before. But she noticed that he seemed a little nervous. The bleeding had stopped, thanks to his binding it with a clean handkerchief at the scene. He untied it, tossed it aside, and cleaned the wound.

"This is going to sting a little."

She winced and tried to shrink away, but he held her arm in place.

"Okay, maybe a lot." He smiled at her. "Just hold still, I'll try to do this as quickly as I can."

Once he saw where the gash was, he pulled out a syringe and a small vial.

"What's that for?" She glanced at the needle, then at him with wariness in her eyes.

"What, would you rather have me slip something into a drink so you can be out for this?" He asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

Grace laughed. "Oh, I set myself up for that one, didn't I!" She looked away. "No, just go ahead and do what you're gonna do. Let's get this over with."

Sam carefully injected the skin around the wound. "I'm just numbing this up a little for you. This is probably going to take a dozen stitches, and that won't be fun."

She watched the intense look of concentration on his face as he poked the area with the needle, then stitched the jagged edges together. It still stung, but not as badly as if he hadn't prepared it first. As he focused on caring for her, she felt a wave of emotion roll up from her toes to her head, making her feel dizzy. Surely he could hear her heart racing! She put out her free hand to steady herself on the bed. He noticed, stopped mid-stitch, and looked deeply into her eyes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just feeling kind of funny." She tried to smile it away.

"Okay, hang on, I'm almost done." He picked up the pace a little and finished off the last two stitches, tied off the thread, and cut it. "Alright, I just want to bandage this up, make sure nothing rubs on these or pulls at them. I'm sure Fiona can tell you the joys of having to be restitched." The corner of his mouth tipped up.

"I'd rather not deal with that, thanks." She glanced down as he placed a gauze pad over the injury and taped it in place. Emotion again threatened to take over, and she swallowed hard. "Sam, thank you. You didn't have to do this, I could have gone to the hospital..."

"It's no problem." He whisked away the debris from his doctoring and tossed it into the trash, then placed the kit on the credenza and sat beside her on the bed. "Just think of how much money I saved the Canadian taxpayers by stitching you up here." He grinned.

"And I'm sure the care was a lot better, too." She grinned back at him.

With a gentle hand, Sam brought her to her feet. She felt something, an unseen force vibrating between them, as he placed his hands at her waist. Her breath caught and her lips parted in anticipation. Then he turned her and led her to the side of the bed.

"Here, why don't you lay down for awhile. You didn't get a lot of sleep last night, did you?" He pulled back the spread. "Go on, rest awhile."

She let him pull her down to the bed and dutifully lay down. He pulled her shoes off before tucking her legs under the covers, and he smoothed them over her. "You need anything? Aspirin for the pain?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

"Okay. Try to get some sleep."

He was so close, he could have kissed her. Even just a light touch of his lips on her temple would have been enough, but he restrained himself. She could see this was just as difficult for him as it was for her.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to run to the market and let Mike know we're here and safe. Okay?"

"Sure. I'll be fine." She gave him a smile.

The door slammed and locked behind him, and again she felt like an idiot for falling for him. But at least this time there was evidence that she wasn't the only one. He was probably regretting it as much as she, but the magnetic pull was too enticing to resist. She silently thanked him for his retreat. Maybe by the time he returned she would have her head on straight again. Now that Finley was caught, no doubt she would be on an airplane that very day back to Chicago. They would never see one another again, and that would be that. It was better this way. They were too different. He was an American, she a Canadian. Except for being a guest in his country, she didn't belong here. She had a job, a satisfying one at that. Although, at the moment, going back to the freezing cold of Chicago held little appeal.

Grace felt warm with the covers on. She pushed them off and went to the window. The pool in the courtyard sparkled in the sun as the maintenance man skimmed the water for debris. Birds twittered outside as the palms swayed in the breeze. She unlocked the window and slid it open so she could hear the sounds and take in the fresh air. It was so relaxing, she went back to bed and fell asleep easily.

* * *

"Sam, how's Grace?"

As he walked back to the apartment, Sam talked on the phone with Michael. "She's okay, just ten stitches to clean up that gash."

"Ouch! She's got Fi beat."

Sam laughed. "Yeah. She was a real trouper, put up with it and didn't give me any crap. She should be resting now."

"Okay, I'll let the Canadians know. Inspector Thatcher wanted to know how she was so she could report back to the CSIS."

"Ah, I see. Well, you can tell her she's safe and sound at my place."

"Some people would debate that." Michael joked.

"Ha ha." He unlocked the door and entered. When he saw her sleeping, he toned down his voice. "She's asleep now, Mike, so I'm gonna hang up. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, Sam. Don't forget the cops want to talk to you two."

"Yeah, no problem. We'll go over to the precinct later. I know Grace didn't sleep well last night, and with this injury, she just needs some time." He passed the bed and went into the kitchenette. "Later, Mike."

He made her a late breakfast. When she didn't rouse from the scent of cooking, he knew she really needed her rest, so he ate alone and cleaned up the meal as quietly as he could. He went outside and sat in a chair near the door, reading his book while he waited for her to wake up. His own eyes started to droop, the lack of sleep catching up to him. Finally, unable to fight it anymore, he went inside and lay on the opposite side of the bed, on top of the spread, and went to sleep.

* * *

She felt his weight on the bed when she woke and turned, not sure if it was him or not. He faced her, his head half buried in his bent arm. She rolled over to her other side, being careful not to aggravate her injury, and she dared to reach out and caress his arm. He flinched at the touch of her hand on his bare forearm, but he didn't awaken. Her hand slipped to the side of his face, and his head moved into it. His eyes opened slowly, deep with desire.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

"What time is it?"

"I don't care." If she hadn't been held captive by the covers, she would have crossed the space between them and dove into his lips.

"We have to go to the station."

"Yeah. I was hoping that could wait."

He smiled at her, and she knew that he knew what she was thinking. His hand reached out and caressed her face. "Duty calls, Agent Chatham."

_I wish he hadn't called me that!_ His words were as effective as a bucket of ice cold water thrown on her desire. She grumbled under her breath and rolled off the bed. "Fine, let's get this done. And then, can you take me to my hotel? I'm sure that my superiors can't wait for me to return to Chicago. The hotel, the meals, the clothes, everything is costing them." She slipped into her shoes and turned. "Well? Let's go!"

Sam got off the bed, straightened his clothes, and wordlessly escorted her out of the apartment. He helped her into the car and still didn't say anything. Grace chalked it up to his being a man of experience, knowing that when a woman was in her state, he was better off not saying anything, rather than risk opening his mouth and getting chewed out in response.

After the interview at the station, he took her by the arm and led her down the street. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to a late lunch, since you missed both breakfast and lunch. You've gotta be starving."

"I am." She couldn't help but remember how she deprived him of food while he was held by her agency. It shamed her that she'd been so cruel to him. "So where are we going?"

"There's this nice little Cuban cafe just up the street. If you're going to leave Miami soon, I figured you needed something to remind you of your stay here. Something more pleasant than rounding up bad guys and getting shot at." His smile was back.

"That's very kind of you, Sam."

While they ate, they talked very little. He just let her soak in the atmosphere around them. People spoke Spanish, a language she never learned, but its lyrical quality drew her in to the beauty of the people. Some of the buildings were a bit run down, but the shop keepers and patrons were colorful and happy. An artist worked on a mural across the street, and she watched, fascinated by the graceful brush strokes.

Sam paid for their meal and asked, "Are you ready to go?" She didn't respond. "Gracie, are you ready to go?" He covered her hand with his, and she turned hers to squeeze it.

"Oh Sam, how will I ever be able to go back to Chicago? It's so drab compared to this!"

"Duty. You're a slave to duty, just like I was at one time."

She sighed. "You're right. Duty calls."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Deja vu. Grace wished it could have been something else that caused it, some other man, but she was stuck in the CSIS offices in Chicago with Chuck Finley sitting in the same room where she held Sam three months earlier. It was only temporary, until the CSIS agents came from Ottawa to escort him on a private flight. It didn't matter, because the scenario was almost the same, except Sam was telling the truth. Finley simply used lies to attempt to misdirect her.

The phone rang as she was about to leave her office for round two with Finley. "Agent Chatham. Hello?"

"Hi Grace, it's me, Sam Axe."

Her breath caught for just a moment. She never expected to hear from him again, not after so much time had gone by. "Sam! Well, I think saying this is a surprise is an understatement! How are you?"

"I'm great, and you?" When they got the pleasantries out of the way, he continued on course. "The reason I'm calling is, I was trying to find that file I had on Anson. I thought I got it back, but..."

"No, it's still here. Some of your other personal effects, things that Fraser and Ray confiscated when they searched your apartment, are also here."

"The photo album."

"Yes. A few other things, too." He must have missed the album, because other than the file it was the only thing he mentioned.

"So you have it, or did it get lost in a box somewhere?"

She laughed. He knew well how evidence came and went. "Oh yes, I have them here in my office, as a matter of fact. Do you want me to mail all this to you? I can send it by courier for safety's sake with the files."

"No, that's okay. I'm heading up there to interview a guy that Fraser and Ray arrested. It looks like he knows something about Anson, but he's being really stubborn about talking. Says he won't talk to them, but he'll give me or Mike the information. So I'm flying up there today."

"Really. When will you be in town?" The wheels were going in her head. Maybe he would have time to go to dinner.

"My flight lands around four, so by the time I get off and get a cab to my hotel, check in...I'll be free by five-thirty, six." She heard the tone of his voice change as he asked, "Were you thinking of dinner?"

She smiled. "Yes, I was. I figure I owe you."

"Oh, so will we upgrade from just water to water and crackers?"

Grace threw her head back against her seat and laughed. "Sam, I love your sense of humor. You'd make a great Canadian."

"Except I don't like the cold. Would that disqualify me?"

"Definitely. Too bad." She sobered and leaned forward. "Listen, I've got to get back to what I was doing. Just let me know where you're staying, and your cell number, and I'll let you know when I'm done. Then we can arrange something."

"Sounds great, Grace." He gave her the information and said, "Looking forward to seeing you again."

"You too." After she hung up, Grace felt as giddy as a school girl and had to restrain herself. Sam was just in town on business, not really to see her! But he was taking the time, and he said he was looking forward to it. What else could she infer from that? Plus, she now had his cell phone number and could call him any time. She sighed when Cindy, the receptionist, knocked on her door frame. "Yes, Cindy?"

"Mr. Finley is getting quite loud in the interview room," she said.

"I'll be in there shortly. Is the Director in his office?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Terrific. I'd like him to accompany me on this one. If he can't get Finley to talk, I don't know what we'll do. Probably throw him back to the Americans and let them have him for awhile." She got up and walked back to the interview room, but not before stopping in to see the Director.

* * *

The last time Sam landed in Chicago, he was handcuffed and restrained in his seat. This time, he wished he had some handcuffs, some child sized ones to restrain the kid in the seat behind him. All the way from Atlanta he kicked the seat, whined, or just made a general nuisance of himself. His mother didn't help matters, and when Sam asked her nicely to get him to stop, he would have thought he'd slapped her in the face. _This is not starting the trip off on the right foot!_

As soon as the airplane parked in the gate and before the gangway was attached, Sam was out of his seat and pulling his suitcase and suit bag out of the overhead bin. His laptop case and suit bag weighed down his shoulder. In his right arm, he held the wool coat he bought for the trip. He came prepared for cold weather this time. When he was finally free of the plane, he hustled to the taxi area to get a cab. The plane came in late, and when he glanced at his watch he realized that he had only a half hour to be on the far side of his estimated time of arrival at the hotel. He didn't want to keep Grace waiting.

_Why am I so excited to see Grace, my captor? I should still be mad about that, maybe just a little, right? But she was only doing what her government demanded her to do. She just happened to be working with bad intel. It happens all the time. _Sam could find a bunch of reasons why he should forgive her, but one more than any stood out: he liked her. She was a good team member, and he still recalled how much he enjoyed their night working together. Maybe while he was in Chicago, he'd have another opportunity, or a chance to see her off the clock. Not that it would ever amount to much, but it sure would be fun.

He stood at the check in desk signing his name on the paperwork when he heard her. "Sam."

A smile started to form on his face as he turned, and when he saw the light in her eyes and the beaming grin she gave him, his mirrored it. "Gracie!" He enveloped her in his arms, and she squeezed hers around his shoulders.

"It's so good to see you, Sam!" She gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling out of his grip.

"Sir, your credit card."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks!" He turned and picked it up off the counter, wondering where on earth that kiss came from and why she did it. _Careful, Sam, remember that you have to watch yourself with this woman._ He grabbed the keycard and turned back to Grace as he picked up his things. "I have to take this upstairs, and then we can go."

"Need help?" She smiled.

"No, I'm good. Thanks." He felt awkward about it, but asked anyway. "You want to come along? No sense in you standing here in the lobby waiting."

She went with him, and the closer he got to his room, the more uneasy he felt. Usually, when he took a woman to a hotel room, it was for far different reasons, and there were feelings involved. He'd been battling feelings like that since the last time he saw her. He wondered what was going through her head.

"I just want to get my suits hung up, and then I'll be ready." He unlocked the door, opened it and allowed her to go inside first. Then he unpacked the suit bag as quickly as he could so they could get out of there. "Any suggestions for dinner?"

"I'd say my place, but I don't have anything that doesn't require a microwave." She chuckled. "You like Brazilian? There's this awesome place on the river."

"It's been a long time since I've had Brazilian cuisine." She apparently decided that she wanted to spend a lot of time with him, because a full-blown Brazilian meal could take hours if done correctly. "But do you have the time for that?"

"Do you?"

"I have to meet Fraser and Ray at nine tomorrow."

They settled on gourmet pizza at a place not far from the hotel. As they waited for their order, Sam studied Grace. She leaned forward and her shoulders slumped a little. That was not the picture he had of her before.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just a really long day, no, make that long week. We've been hanging onto Finley, trying to get him to talk. He's been nothing but trouble, and quite frankly, I don't know why we're wasting the time on him. Let the RCMP take care of him when he gets to Canada, that's what I say." She paused and broke apart a breadstick. "The Director agreed. We're shipping him up to Ottawa tomorrow."

"From what I understand, the Montana police have some good information on his whereabouts while he was in that state, and Fraser told me the RCMP has everything they need to go forward with prosecuting him for the kidnapping. So I'd have to agree, it was a waste of your time. More wine?"

"Oh sure, I need to relax." She let out a breath. "Sam, I used to love my job, and then they wanted me to start interrogating. I'm an investigator! I look for clues, I don't beat them out of people!"

"I guess I got the kid glove treatment then, huh?"

"You know what I mean!" She took a long drink of her wine. "Sorry, I'm just really tired. I'm not at my best, but then, you haven't really had a chance to see me at that, have you?" Her laugh was hollow.

"It's okay. I know what that's like." He held up his wine glass. "Here's hoping tomorrow is much better."

"Well, if I can ship Finley back to the Americans, or up to Ottawa, it'll be a great day."

"I'm surprised he hasn't wound up somewhere for prosecution. It's been almost three months since we caught him."

"I know. The American authorities in Miami wanted him, then the Montana authorities wanted him, and we got him next." She paused. "Sheesh, with all the extraditions, that guy probably has a nice pile of frequent flier miles!"

Sam's laughter died, and he focused on her over his glass. "Did you get those stitches out?"

"Yes, I did. The doctor was impressed with your work." She smiled. "I barely have a scar there. Say, did Michael and Fiona come along?"

"No, just me. We were in the middle of a case when I got this call from Ray. I don't think Fi would have come along even if she had to. That one blast of cold weather was enough for her." He grinned. "Mike wouldn't care if it was Siberia. Me, I much prefer Miami, but business is business." He paused, playing with his fork in the remnants of his meal. "Besides, there was another...attractive...reason for coming to Chicago." His eyes rose to hers, full of emotion. He dropped his fork onto the plate, and it clattered against the stoneware. When he could finally speak, his voice came out soft. "I haven't been able to get you off my mind, Gracie."

Her breath stuck in her throat, but she managed to work around it. "I've been thinking about you a lot, too. It's crazy, considering how things started between us." Grace's phone rang and she sighed heavily. "Hang on a second. Hello?" As she listened, a look of concern, then horror, crossed her face. The conversation was short, but whatever it was had her upset.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked when she hung up.

"That was another agent at the office. We have two agents who watch Finley. He was having dinner, something they usually get from a restaurant, and he appeared to have a heart attack. They transported him to the hospital."

"Hopefully under heavy guard."

"Of course." Her hand fumbled as she put her phone back into her purse. "Sam, we've never had anything like this happen before with a detainee."

"Is he still alive?"

She nodded. "Well, hopefully he'll survive."

Sam folded his hands over his plate and an intent look crossed his face. "It's either an attempt to escape, or someone tried to kill him. That would be my bet. And I wouldn't be surprised if it was Anson. Cleaning house, so to speak. Finley's one big rat that's a liability the longer he sits in jail or an agency holding cell."

Grace stared at him. "This Anson guy has a long reach, doesn't he?"

"If you looked at my notes and that file, you'd know that. Trying to keep up with him, it was all turning into one big mess. But once I get back to Miami with it, and Mike is ready to start weeding through everything with the CIA's help, we'll hopefully stop him."

They finished off the wine and the pizza with small talk, getting their minds off work and continuing to dance around their feelings. As much as he would have liked to lie about it, she was never out of his mind for more than a day. Whenever he was alone, he caught himself thinking about her, wondering if she ever gave him a second thought. That short kiss earlier told him that she must have thought about him at least once. And the fact that she didn't seem to want the night to end, despite her weariness, reinforced his suspicions.

She walked with him to the hotel and they stood under the canopy looking into each other's eyes. "I had a great time tonight, Sam. Thanks."

"I did too. But why thank me? You bought dinner!"

"Thanks, for giving me a chance to show you I'm not a...a disagreeable woman."

"I'm convinced I just caught you at a bad time. Now let's get past it, and..."

She interrupted him and placed her gloved hands on his coat lapels. "I'd like to see you again before you leave."

"I'd like that. Give me your number, and I'll call you."

She smiled, pulled a business card out of her purse, and pulled back one lapel to drop it into the interior pocket. Then she folded into place and patted the spot. "There you go, no excuses except for work."

"No excuses. Night, Gracie." He dipped his head and kissed her, just a simple little kiss, but it left him feeling warm all the way up to his room.

Sam blew into the 27th Precinct the next morning, a little early for his meeting. At least it wasn't a cold wind. Spring was coming to the Windy City. He approached the front desk and asked for Ray Kowalski.

"He'll be right down." The woman behind the counter said with a gravelly voice. "Sign here, and here's your visitor's badge."

Sam wrote his signature, scooped up the badge and clipped it to his suit. Just then, Ray appeared.

"Hey, Sam! How's it goin'? Not too cold out there for ya, is it?"

"Ray, it's 72 in Miami right now. What do you think?" Sam replied with a laugh. He moved away from the desk and followed Ray upstairs to the detective squad room. "I really hope this guy was worth the trip, brother."

"Have you seen Grace?"

"Last night, after I got in. Why? You two..."

Ray barked out a laugh. "No way, I have enough Canadians to deal with at work! Speaking of Canadians, Fraser's gonna be a little late. The Dragon Lady's got him doing something. Not that it matters much, anyway." He glanced at Sam. "Want some coffee?"

"What's going on, Ray?" He stopped while Ray poured them each a cup, and he took his. "Why do I have the feeling that I'm not gonna like what you've got to say?"

"Okay, your guy, the one you were supposed to interview, he was bailed out this morning."

"What? I thought he was being held for questioning," Sam exclaimed. "By me!"

"He was, but he had a bail on him, and someone posted it."

"Probably Anson," Sam muttered. "You got an address on this guy? Maybe I'll just pay him a little visit." He set his cup down without touching it.

"I'll, uh, get the address and we'll go together. I'm sorry about this, Sam."

"I know how this works. It happens. It just seems pretty odd that someone would bail him just when I wanna talk to him."

Ray nodded. He moved to his desk and Sam followed him, glancing around the station, taking note of its dinginess. From the faded walls to the ancient office furniture, it was dark and depressing. Even the loft, at its run-down worst, had more charm. He couldn't handle working in a place like that. He noticed a woman sitting at her desk watching him, smiling, her brown eyes sending him signals.

"Hey Ray, who's your friend," she asked as Ray put on his jacket.

"Oh, Frannie, this is Sam Axe, Sam, this is Francesca Vecchio. She's our civilian aide around here." He pushed Sam gently toward the door. "See ya later, Frannie!" When they were out of earshot, Ray said, "One piece of advice, Sam. Don't let Frannie take an interest in you. She won't let go. Fraser's still dealing with her giving him the eye and falling all over herself trying to do stuff for him. She used to be really bad, but eventually she realized he wasn't interested. Since then, she's latched onto a few others. So beware."

"Hopefully I won't be around long enough for her to have a chance!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Sam was overdressed for the neighborhood, which pegged him as a cop to everyone around. They felt eyes staring at them as they climbed the stairs to the ragged old apartment building where Tommy Gaines lived. He was the man who had, until a few hours previously, been in police custody. Neither Sam nor Ray could figure out how a guy living in skid row housing would have ties to a diabolical criminal mastermind.

"Well, let's go up and say hi," Ray said as he took off his sunglasses and entered the building.

Somewhere along the way, the sky cleared and the sun shone down on them harshly, but it brought no warmth. Sam didn't think he could get used to that. Not even for Gracie. He shook that thought out of his head and followed Ray upstairs.

Ray found the apartment and knocked on the door. "Mr. Gaines? Open up, please. Police. We'd like to talk to you."

They heard a thump and Sam grumbled as he looked up at the ceiling. "I'll get the fire exit." He trotted toward a window at the end of the hall, unlatched the stubborn lock and threw up the sash. "Hey, Tommy! How's it goin', man?" He climbed out of the window onto the iron fire escape and stepped closer to the scruffy guy who looked as if he were in need of a good meal and a good bath, and not necessarily in that order. Tommy had nowhere to go but down, and he didn't look desperate enough to jump three stories. "Come on inside, we just wanna talk to you about someone, an acquaintance we have in common."

Ray poked his head out the window. "You got him, Sam!"

"Yep. Just gotta convince him to come in, that's all." He turned back to Tommy. "If you want to freeze, well, that's up to you. But if you come in, we'll buy you a cup of coffee. We just wanna talk."

"Y-you don't get it. If I talk, I'm dead. That's the deal." His eyes darted around nervously.

"We can protect you," Sam responded.

"Who are you?"

"Sam Axe. My associate Michael Westen and I have a keen interest in Anson."

Recognition flashed in Tommy's eyes. "I was told about you two. Warned about you."

"The only one you need to be afraid of is Anson, Tommy. Really." Sam held out a hand, trying to coax him inside.

Tommy's entire body shook from the cold. He was helpless now, so Sam reached out, gently grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the window.

Sam stood aside to let Tommy in, and the man had one leg in and one out when a shot rang out and echoed against the buildings. Tommy's body jerked as the bullet hit him in the back. He cried out, fell back outside, and lay with his face frozen in shock, staring at the blue sky. Ray drew his weapon and they scanned the area, but they couldn't locate where the shot came from.

"Sam, is he..."

"He's still breathing, Ray, but he needs an ambulance, fast."

Ray got on his phone and called for assistance while Sam covered Tommy with his coat and watched for more shots. But there were none.

"H-help m-m-me." Tommy's voice came out on a light breath.

"Help is on the way, Tommy. Just hang on," Sam urged him.

"Anson...wants...you."

"What?" Ray leaned out the window. "What'd he say?"

"He...wants to...destroy you all." His breath came out in a rattle, and there was no more.

Sirens came down the street. Sam checked for a pulse. "He's gone, Ray."

* * *

When they returned to the station, a message awaited Ray. He snatched up the hot pink piece of paper with Frannie's cute, flowery handwriting on it. "Looks like Finley's in ICU but they expect he's gonna pull through. The guy just can't stop being a pain."

Sam sat in the chair opposite Ray. "I don't know what I'm gonna do now. Tommy's dead, and before he dies he tells me something I suspected for quite awhile. I'm really gonna be ticked if I came all this way just for that."

"Well, just hang on a second. I know somebody who can help get us a warrant to search his apartment. Maybe we'll find something that makes this all worthwhile." He got on the phone. "Hi Stella, it's me, Ray." He paused. "Now why do you think that every time I call, it's gotta be about you?"

Sam watched Ray as he talked to the woman on the phone. The gestures were priceless, and when he broke a pencil in two with one hand, he figured there had to be some interesting history between them. Then he remembered something Ray had said, that his ex-wife's name was Stella. _Stella Kowalski. Now that's a hoot! _

Ray hung up the phone and sighed, and his forehead dropped to his arms. "Sam, it's been almost twenty years we've been divorced, and sometimes I can't stop thinkin' about her, and other times, I can't stop thinkin' about wringing her neck. Especially when she thinks I'm calling because I want to do something stupid like go out with her or whatever."

"But you're over her."

"Yeah, right."

Sam knew that look. He'd had it himself a few times. "So, anyway, why did you call her?"

"She's a lawyer, and she knows how to get us on the fast track for a search warrant. I mean, if we had some emergency reason to get in like a drug deal going down or a murder or something, it'd be a piece of cake, but Tommy's dead so they won't see your having to leave town tomorrow as an emergency."

"So, what am I gonna do until we get this warrant?"

"I'd be happy to show you around town, Sam." Frannie volunteered with a grin as she stood near his elbow. "You want some coffee? I know this great little place..."

"Frannie, scoot. I think Fraser's coming."

"What?" Her head swiveled around briefly, then came back to glare at Ray. "Very funny, Ray." She crossed her arms, turned back to her desk and sat down. "Sam, the offer still stands. I'd be willing to take you wherever you want to go." As she spoke, she rested her elbow on the desk and dropped her chin into her palm.

Ray let out a breath. "Come on, Fras...I mean, Sam. Speaking of Fraser, let's go over to the Consulate, and see if Fraser's busy yet."

"Alright." Sam got up and walked past Frannie. "Sorry, Francesca. Maybe some other time."

"Sam, don't do that!" Ray rasped as they walked away. "She'll remember and hold you to it!"

The Canadian Consulate was in an old brownstone mansion. Despite the fact that it wasn't yet spring, the yard was kept perfectly clean of trash and the bushes trimmed precisely. Sam figured that had to be Fraser's doing. The windows sparkled in the afternoon sun, as if they'd been recently washed. Inside, however, chaos reigned. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling, protecting those below from falling plaster. Scaffolding took up most of the foyer, and Turnbull's reception desk was missing in action.

"Remodeling?"

"Looks like it," Ray said as they dodged around scaffolding to peer into the Inspector's office. "She's not here, and neither is Fraser."

Turnbull came out from the small kitchen in back. "Ray! This is a surprise!"

"Where are Fraser and Thatcher?"

"Making travel plans. They're going on vacation to get away from this construction."

"Together?" Ray's eyebrows rose as Turnbull's cheeks flushed slightly. "And you're staying here?"

Turnbull straightened. "Someone has to keep an eye on the facility while they're working!"

"You're a real trouper, Turnbull." Ray said as he looked around. "So where are they going?"

"They're flying out tomorrow to Miami, I believe."

"Miami. That's where I'm from." Sam's mouth tipped up in a crooked smile. "I wonder if we're on the same flight, wouldn't that be something?"

"Yeah. I find it pretty interesting that Fraser and Thatcher are taking a vacation together." Ray gave Sam a glance that said so much.

Sam chuckled. "Hey, maybe that little taste of Miami loosened 'em up. Better watch it, they might come back with tans and be wearing shirts like mine all the time!"

Ray pictured Inspector Thatcher in one of Sam's shirts. He shook his head. "Nah, that one makes my head hurt just tryin' to imagine."

"Well, if they're not around, why don't we just go back to the precinct? You got a secure wifi there?"

"Yep."

"Okay, I'll just set up somewhere and do some mining for intel on Tommy. Who knows, maybe it'll give us a break, or at the very least, give me an idea why Anson would want to deal with him."

They said goodbye to a very confused Turnbull, which wasn't that unusual of a state for him, and went back to the precinct. Sam set up at an empty desk on the other side of the room and Ray begged Frannie to leave him alone. When she saw his intense concentration, and how he often hid his screen from prying eyes, she knew it was best to leave him alone.

Late in the afternoon, Ray got the phone call he was hoping for. He jumped out of his chair and approached Sam. "Hey, we got the warrant! We just have to go to the courthouse to pick it up, and then we can search the place. With luck, we'll find something that'll make the trip worth it."

It was getting dark when they pulled up to the old building in Ray's car. "Are you sure you wanna do this tonight, Ray? I'm afraid by the time we come out, your baby will be stripped down to the struts. It's okay, we can come back first thing."

"Not if somebody else gets here first." Ray pointed up to the third floor. Tommy's apartment was on the side street where they parked, and a light shone in the window.

"Okay, that's not good. We can't take a chance that somebody's destroying evidence."

They locked up the car and hurried across the street to the side entrance. Ray pulled on the door to open it, and suddenly a fireball erupted above them, spewing bricks and all kinds of debris outward and down on them. They covered their heads and ran back to the car.

"You okay," Sam asked.

"Fine," Ray answered as he looked up at what used to be Tommy's apartment. The one below it was also in flames, and people were on the fire escape, but it wasn't safe.

"I'll call it in," Ray said and pulled out his phone.

"I'll see what I can do for them," Sam said as he ran back to the fire escape. The ladder was rusty and stubborn, but he was able to get it to move with assistance from above. A family of five, two adults and three kids, came down the ladder, scared and chattering in Spanish. Sam did what he could to help put them at ease. Others from the second floor evacuated safely, and they all watched the fire trucks and police arrive.

Once their help was no longer needed, Sam and Ray stood on the sidewalk by the GTO and watched the apartment burn.

"There must have been something really good up there, Sam. Why would someone blow up the place otherwise?"

"If it was related to Anson, you can bet it was something good. And even if it wasn't, this guy isn't afraid to take out innocent lives to cover up something, even if it's something trivial."

"Sorry you weren't able to find out what it was." Ray placed a consoling hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm just glad we weren't up there when this happened. I wanna get back to Miami, but not in a body bag." He let out a deep sigh. "I guess I might as well leave tonight. No use sticking around."

"Not even to go out with Grace?" Ray grinned.

"No, Ray. I just wanna go home."

_What a waste of a trip. The only good thing about it was seeing Gracie again._ Sam looked out at the blinding brightness of the clouds, and it hurt his eyes, so he slipped on his sunglasses. Maybe he could hide behind them and sleep. It had been a fruitless, exhausting trip, at least as far as the case with Anson was concerned. Sam had to stop thinking about it, because he would never get any rest otherwise.

He switched over to a mental picture of Gracie as she had lunch with him. She looked beautiful. She smelled good, like a meadow exploding with flowers. He was glad he changed his mind and stayed overnight just to share one more meal with her. Saying goodbye was harder than he would have expected, and now he wished she was there beside him so he could hold her hand. That would be enough for the time being. She was miles away and they were getting farther apart, and that thought put an ache in his chest that kept him awake all the way to Miami.

* * *

Grace lay tossing and turning in her bed, wondering where Sam was. She glanced at the clock. The numbers glowed 11:23. With the hour time difference, it was well after midnight in Miami, and he was probably safely tucked in bed sleeping soundly. She felt an ache in her chest and a sob worked its way up to her throat. _What is wrong with me? How can I need him so much? This is insane!_

The phone beside her bed rang, and she felt a coldness wash over her. Nothing good ever came after the jingle of a phone this late at night. Slowly, she reached for it and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

His voice came out on a relieved breath. "Oh Gracie, it's good to hear your voice. Did I wake you?"

"No. Sam, you should be asleep."

"I know, but I can't do it. I can't stop thinking about you and how we left things."

"Sam." She hesitated. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

"We barely know each other!" He hesitated. "I told myself I wasn't going to get tangled up with another woman so easily, but when you came walking onto my turf, I was a goner, Gracie."

"I know how you feel." She smiled in the dark. "Maybe we should get to know one another a bit before we get back together again."

"That sounds like a good idea. Where should we start?"

They spent several hours talking, learning about each other's pasts. There were bits and pieces that Sam wouldn't, or couldn't, talk about on the phone, but he promised that the next time they met face to face, he would tell her what he could. When they finally hung up, they made another date to talk on the phone. This was something new for both of them. It was enlightening and frightening at the same time. After a couple of weeks, Grace knew that she had a decision to make. It started with three words.

"I love you," she said to Sam.

"You know I love you, Gracie. I'm just glad we finally got around to saying it."

"I wanted to be sure."

"I was afraid I was going to have to lock you up in a room and talk to you until you confessed," he teased. Then he sighed deeply. "There's just one problem with all this."

"What's that? The distance?"

"Yeah. And I keep thinking about it, but I keep thinking that I won't be happy in Chicago. Would you be happy living here? It gets really hot and humid in the summer."

"I've been thinking about that myself."

"I feel like we're playing a game of chicken. Who's going to give in first and move to where the other one is, and if neither one of us wants to do it, what does that say about how we feel? I can't move north, but yet it's like a part of me is missing without you."

"We'll work it out." She hated to break away, but she still had a job to do. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to get to sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."

"Okay. Love you, Gracie. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Sam. I love you."

After she hung up, tears leaked out of her eyes as she lay staring at the ceiling. She loved her job most of the time, but she'd spent way too much of her life sacrificing herself for the CSIS. How many eligible men did she meet? She could probably count them on both hands. And how many were lost opportunities for happiness? She wasn't getting any younger. As it was, having a family was close to an unattainable goal. But if all she had was Sam for the rest of her life, she would be satisfied with that.

_It's time to make a change. If the CSIS won't transfer me to Miami, I'll quit. Maybe Michael Westen would be willing to hire an ex-CSIS agent for his crew._ Thoughts of the future swirled in her head and sent her into dreamland.

* * *

Ray knocked on Welsh's door and entered. "Sir, I've been thinking."

"What about?"

"That vacation I never had. I know I've got plenty of time saved up, so...I wanna put in for a couple of weeks."

"Let me guess. You want to go back to Miami."

Ray grinned. "Yes, Sir!" He took a sip of his coffee as he leaned against the door frame. "I could really go for some more of that sunshine and heat. Plus, I'd love to work with Mike on his car."

Frannie butted in. "Was there any other reason you wanted to go to Miami, Ray? I hope it wasn't that Fiona. She's married, don't forget."

"Oh yeah, I know that. I'm thinkin' there are plenty of other hot dancin' women in Miami." Ray did a little dance. "That salsa is pretty steamy, Frannie. Hey, you should come along. It would be fun."

"With you?" She crossed her arms and looked at him as if he were crazy. "I think not, Ray."

"Maybe Sam would be willing to dance with you." He smirked, yet he hated that he set up his friend like that when he saw her eyes light up.

"You know, maybe Miami's not a half bad idea after all." She leaned an elbow on Ray's shoulder. "I wanna put in a request for two weeks, Sir."

"Fine. You two go, have a ball." He shook his head as they left the office smiling. He almost wished he could stow away and see what kind of vacation that would be with those two. Then again, it might be like those long distance family trips with the kids fighting and screaming at each other all the way. He said a silent prayer for Sam and his friends, that they could survive the onslaught of Frannie and Ray.

Before leaving, Ray called Michael and let him know he was coming. "I was hoping we could work on your car while I'm there," he said.

"That would be great, Ray. I've been meaning to take a little time off, and your coming here would be an opportunity to do just that. Fi will be happy I'm taking time to unwind. And with Sam's help, we could get a lot of work done."

"Awesome. I'm really looking forward to this. Say, how are things going with this whole Finley/Anson thing?"

"Finley was turned over to the Canadians after he got out of the hospital. He's probably sitting in some cozy cell right now waiting for his trial on the kidnapping and extortion case." Michael hesitated. "Anson is a dead end. Since the explosion at Tommy's apartment, he hasn't done anything. We're thinking he's waiting for Sam to put down his guard, but we're not gonna let that happen."

"Good. The waiting game sucks, though."

"Yeah. We're used to it. So, you need a ride from the airport? A place to stay?"

"I haven't really gotten that far yet, just got the vacation time. I need to book a flight."

"Well, don't worry about a place to stay, we'll figure something out."

"Oh, Mike? You better warn Sam that Frannie's coming along."

* * *

Grace parked the car in the shade of an old oak tree and got out. The sunshine, heat and humidity dropped over her like a mantel. It felt good after the cold, wet rains in Chicago that said good bye when she left. She walked toward the apartment in her new wedge heeled sandals. Fiona turned her on to them. They were sexy and made her feel so much taller, and with them the top of her head would come up to Sam's eyebrows. She didn't call beforehand, hoping to catch him by surprise. It was risky, but then so was just about everything about this relationship. She heard a lot of activity at the pool and glanced over to see what was happening. Her jaw dropped when she saw Ray was in the water with Michael and two women. One of them was Fiona She didn't recognize the other one. She was petite and slim like Fiona, and she had dark hair.

The dark haired woman spoke. "Ray, you lost my sunglasses at the bottom of the pool!"

"No problem, Frannie. I'll get 'em."

She recognized that voice. It was Sam's. She approached his apartment, just to make sure she wasn't hearing things. The screen door was locked, but the inside door was open and no one was inside.

"Oh my...Grace," Michael breathed when he saw her.

Everyone turned their heads to see her as she entered the pool area. She greeted them with a smile. "Hello! I'm back!"

"It's nice to see you again. You should have let us know you were coming!" Fiona said as she got out of the pool and carefully gave her a welcome hug while trying not to get her wet.

"Oh hey, Grace!" Ray greeted her with a big smile and noted her staring at the woman she didn't know. "This is Frannie Vecchio, she works at the station with me. Frannie, this is Agent Grace Chatham of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."

Frannie held up a hand and waved. "Nice to meet ya, Grace."

"And you, Frannie." Grace looked around. "Where's Sam?"

Just then, he came up from the bottom of the deep end with a pair of sunglasses held up triumphantly in one hand. "Sorry it took me so long, Frannie. They got stuck in the drain."

"I was starting to get worried. You were down there a long time!"

Michael waved a hand. "He's good at holding his breath. It's no big deal."

"Thanks!" She took them from him, sat on the edge of the pool and put the glasses over her eyes. She grinned as she looked toward Grace. "Hey Sam, there's somebody here to see you."

Sam's body turned as he treaded water, and the moment he saw her, his eyes widened. "Gracie?" He swam to the shallow end and hurled himself up the ladder. "What...what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you, Sam. I couldn't keep doing this phone dating thing. I needed to...to touch you."

"Oh baby, I've wanted to touch you too," he replied huskily as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

She thought her knees were melting as she pressed herself into him. She didn't care that she would be soaking wet when it was all over. Just being with him, feeling his skin against hers, made it worth it. When they finally parted, her shirt drooped over her front and her shorts were damp.

"I'm sorry." He said as he looked down at her.

"I'm not." She grinned. "Mind if I go change into my suit?"

"Hang on, let me get the key." He swiped it off the table where the rest of their things were and gave it to her.

"I'll be right back." She hurried to her car, pulled out her small carry on bag that she prepared just for something like this. A few minutes later, she appeared poolside with a new suit and a rolled up towel. The suit was a white bikini with tan palm fronds all over it.

Sam blinked as he stared at her. "That's my shirt."

With a grin on her face, she replied, "No, it's a swimsuit made with the same pattern as your shirt. I found it online. What do you think?"

"I love it. No more than I love you, though." He picked her up. "Come here, baby! Let's get wet!" Still clinging to her, he jumped into the pool.

She screamed and took a breath at the last second, then came up sputtering anyway. "Hey, this water's a little cool, but it feels good," she purred as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Grace spent the afternoon with Sam and his friends, enjoying the weather and acclimating to life in Miami. They ended the day with dinner at Carlito's before splitting from the group and going on their own private drive. Sam took her to an area with a big white brick lighthouse and they leaned their backs against it as they watched the sunset fade to darkness over the trees. A cool breeze came off the water, so he wrapped them in a blanket and they sat under the stars. They kissed while cocooned in it, away from any potentially prying eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and loved the warmth of his skin against hers, and she knew that she could never leave again.

He seemed to know what she was thinking when he whispered, "Don't ever leave me, Gracie."

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

Michael and Fiona sat at the bar eating breakfast when someone knocked. They listened for the pattern and realized it was Sam. Ever since they got married, the couple decided it was time for people to knock before entering. Before the new rule, Sam, Maddie, or Nate would just walk in unannounced if the door was unlocked, sometimes catching them in a compromising position.

"Come on in, Sam!" Michael called across the loft.

The door squealed as Sam entered the loft, holding onto Grace's hand. Michael and Fiona turned and studied them. They'd never seen her so casually dressed in shorts and a hawaiian shirt that looked like something Sam would wear. She walked ahead of Sam and said, "Hi, I've got something for you guys. We were having so much fun yesterday, it kind of slipped my mind." She opened a beach bag she wore on her shoulder and handed Michael a folder. "This is some information we received from Chuck Finley, after he recovered from his heart attack, and once the CSIS took him to Ottawa for further questioning. It appears that Anson was planning on using Finley to steal Sam's identity and pose as him."

"And what about Sam?"

She glanced at Sam, swallowed, and returned her attention to Michael. "Anson was going to kill him. He still might try, even though Finley is unusable in his plan. That's one of the reasons I'm here."

"I'm not sure I understand," Michael said as he looked at her and then Sam.

"Director Julliard has assigned me to keep an eye on Sam and work with the CIA and you, Michael, to bring down Anson. I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to make that happen."

"Well, does Agent Pearce know about this?"

"She does. I just got done meeting with her before we came here."

Sam smiled and squeezed her hand. "Looks like we've got a new team member, Mike."

"Great! Until there's something you need me to do to help out, I'll be watching over Sam." She smiled as she threaded her arm through his and circled his waist.

He moved his arm around her shoulder as he announced, "We're going to the beach with Frannie and Ray. You're welcome to come if you're not busy right now. And later on you girls can do something while we work on the car."

"We girls?" Fiona stared at him. "We'll see you there, and then later, _we girls_ can go shopping, have lunch, and just have fun." She saw Grace's concerned look and added, "Don't worry, Grace. I think Michael and Ray can keep an eye on Sam. Can't you_ boys_?"

For some reason, Fiona's ire was up today. He knew it was just better to shut up and not make things worse. "Okay, I guess we'll see you guys at the beach then." He quickly ushered Grace out of the loft.

"Well, that was...interesting." Fiona said as she shook her head.

"I guess Sam got his wish," Michael said. "He'd been hoping to find a way for Grace to come down to Miami for awhile, maybe forever. This is a start."

"Not the best situation, with a death threat hanging over his head, but at least it's something." Fiona finished her yogurt. "Now I really can't wait for an excuse to blow up Anson."

Michael's eyes grew wide, his concern evident for the ignition of her fiery temper. "Careful, Fi. You know what happened last time with you, explosives, and Anson."

"I know. Only this time, things will be different. This time, the authorities will be picking up little itty bitty pieces of him."

Michael sighed and dropped the files onto the bar. "Let's get changed and go to the beach. I think we need some R&R, and then Ray, Sam, and I have work to do on the Charger. We'll keep our eyes peeled for trouble, and just see what happens."

Fiona sighed and spun off the bar stool. "Sometimes, Michael, you're no fun!"


End file.
